Kaleidoscope
by Le1a Naberr1e
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy that never was, Lord Vader continues his quest for the one thing a Sith should never, ever have. Sequel of sorts to Through A Mirror Darkly.
1. Waking Dreams, Broken Wings

A long time ago, in a galaxy that never was, an Empire of millenia reaches the peak of its powers. It is a time of peace and prosperity for the obedient serfs of the Empire; and for the not-so-obedient, it is a time that always ends quickly. 

Against this backdrop of peace, prosperity and order, Darth Vader - Dark Lord of the Sith, Apprentice and Heir to the Emperor - hunts down the one thing that a Sith should never, ever claim.

* * *

kaleidoscope.  
ka·lei·do·scope  
n. 

_A tube-shaped optical instrument that is rotated to produce a succession of symmetrical designs by means of **mirrors **reflecting the **constantly changing patterns **made by bits of colored glass at one end of the tube.  
A constantly changing set of **colors**.  
A series of changing phases or events: a kaleidoscope of **illusions**. _

Greek kalos, beautiful + eidos, form.

* * *

**1, Waking Dreams **

The bounty hunter arrived almost an hour after the appointed time for the rendezvous.

Vader watched the Mandalorian descend from his ship and breathed.

Jango Fett did not bother to apologize. "I have your bounty."

The hot rush of anticipation soon to be sated, was more than enough to counter the long, cold, furious hour.

The exchange was quick. Vader gave the suspicious mercenary his coins, almost smiling at the thought that Fett was trying to 'secure' himself from him, Vader. If Vader had the mind too, he would have destroyed the bounty hunter with, literally, his mind alone.

Then --- his prize was brought forward. Fett carried her over his shoulder, and brought her to Vader. As she was placed in his arms, he could feel the rush of blood behind his ears, could feel the soft breath from her body, his every senses had come alive, magnified.

"What did you do to her?" he asked suspiciously, feeling the unnaturalness of her slumber acutely.

"I fed her." Vader's eyes all but drilled holes into Fett's helmet; quickly, the bounty hunter elaborated: "Harmless sedative. She'll be awake in an hour or less."

The Sith turned his eyes from the bounty hunter to his prize. He looked into her face and felt his soul shatter with realization.

_Mine. _

The bounty hunter's ship lifted from the ground, disappeared into the air above.

Vader hardly noticed. He had fallen to his knees, carefully placing her body so that her head rested against the crook of his arm, and his free hand could touch her.

_Could_ touch her. He hesitated, his mind shouting the words at him – _"Unworthy! Monster!" _– and his fingers shook where they hovered inches from her cheeks. He could feel her breath against his fingertips.

"You're mine," he whispered, still not touching her. The words sounded hollow in his head and he felt anger and fear grip him. His hand left its undecided position above her face, and skimmed over the line of her cloak, running along the cloth until he found her wrist. With swift determination – knowing that if he hesitated, he would lose his nerve – he gripped it hard, feeling the fine bones in her hand, binding her to him.

"You're mine!" He shouted furiously, bending so low over her that his hair scraped against the pale skin of her forehead. Tears filled his throat and he swallowed hard. "You belong to me!"

She stirred in his arms, murmuring something, but she did not wake.

The little murmur was his undoing. Her voice, so soft, so sweet, so pure.

_You monster. You vile, murderous, damned – _

He closed his mind to his own counsel and he captured all that soft, sweet, purity with his mouth.

''

She fell out of sleep, shaking violently.

"Padmé? Padmé, are you alright?"

The hand reached for her, and wildly, she struck at it, feeling the claustrophobia of a caged animal.

There was the rustle of clothes as more people came to her.

Strong arms went round her, holding her against a broad chest until she had stilled.

"Shhh… Shhh…"

Slowly, consciousness came to her. A familiar room, high walls, wide, open windows. Not a landing platform high above Coruscant where a thief had claimed her.

"Wake up. It was only a bad dream."

She nodded bleakly, tears filling her eyes.

_Soft hair brushing against her forehead._

She pulled away from the restraining hold and her hands flew to her head, brushing away the sensation like clinging cobwebs on her skin. She looked at her hands and froze. Slowly, she lowered them to her lap.

Her friends, her charges flocked around her on the bed.

"…safe here…"

"…back to sleep…"

Their voices rose and fell around her, like the beating wings on the humanoid creatures on Iego but Padmé paid them no heed. All her focus was on her own hands, now spread open, pink against her white gown.

Like flowers, the bruises were blossoming on her wrist.

_tbc_


	2. Inferno

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

2, Inferno **

The bounty hunter's ship never touched ground on Coruscant. Moments after it entered atmosphere, it hovered for an unusually long time over the narrow landing strip. Then it ascended again, rapidly climbing the skies.

Padmé's small hands were ill-fitted for the steering levers, designed as they were for armor-gloved fists. But other than that, the controls for flying the ship were generic enough for her to expertly guide it through the capital planet's speed lanes. It was the cacophony of flashing lights dancing over the consoles and indicating a myriad number of alarms that puzzled her.

_Tracking alerts, probably_, she thought silently as the ship broke atmosphere. She reached over to the nav computer to make the jump calculations, steadfastly ignoring the widening patch of dampness in her side. If she was being followed by whatever client had hired the bounty hunter to find her – _and there had been a ship on that landing platform, hadn't there?_ – then her best chance was to keep her mind as cool and alert as it had been when she 'disabled' Jango Fett.

_Killed. I killed… killed! _

She shut down the whine in her head and reached for the nav computer. She saw blackness.

_So this is how I die. _

The floor was a hard, painful, slippery jolt on Padmé's knees and her eyes flew open. She slid across her own blood, banging her leg awkwardly against the edge of the pilot's chair. She would have fallen all the way to her own face on the floor, if she hadn't grabbed hold of the console in time. For a second, she allowed herself to just breathe. Then she tightened her grip and tried to pull herself up. She fell back to her knees and her ears rang with the white noise of pain.

And defiance.

_I'm not ready to die! _

Grunting, she dragged herself forward; her fingers were so wet that her hold on the console was slippery. She was blinking back the sweat and fogginess from her eyes, no more. Tears were cheap. Her fingers finally touched the buttons on the nav computer and she punched in the jump co-ordinates. Far off at the berth of the ship, she heard the hyperdrive engine start. She smiled. And her eyes closed.

Outside the dead bounty hunter's ship, the stars were streaking into starlines. Beyond it, another vessel was already preparing to follow it into hyperspace.

In the ship, Padmé's body was folding to the cabin floor like the petals of dying flower. A bloody flower. The interior of the ship looked like the scene of a carnage. Padmé's blood was streaked against the switched and levers of the console, soaked into the pilot's seat, tracking a wet and gruesome path across the cabin, down the trap door and into the hatch below. There Jango Fett lay, his armor-gloved hand still holding his blaster, wearing a necklace of the very chains he used to anchor his bounty.

Perhaps he had anticipated this end. For when Jango Fett had commissioned his ship, he had placed in it certain protocols that prevented it from being piloted without his authority.

Seconds after the dead and dying crew made the jump, the ship fell out of hyperspace, a hurtling ball of fire.

_tbc_


	3. Demon in A Cage

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

3, Demon in A Cage 

Only a Sith would make you feel like you were invading his turf in your own home.

Obi-Wan stepped gingerly through the lowered force field, tingling slightly as tiny shocks went from his head to his toes. The moment he stepped completely through, the force fields were raised again and he was close enough to them to feel a sudden, violent shock that made him gasp.

Vader stopped his incessant pacing to watch the Jedi. His perpetual scowl lightened with a smirk.

"Come to visit, Kenobi? How considerate."

Obi-Wan shrugged, trying not to walk as steadily away from the doorway as he could. "What we lack in simple comforts, we make up in hospitality." He gestured to pale green-coloured walls of the room, the high windows from which sunlight poured (through even stronger force field barriers, of course), and the small but comfortable cot that was the only furniture in the room. All in all, it was a far cry from the dungeons he, Obi-Wan, had been lodged in when he was a 'guest' of Vader's.

Vader growled wordlessly and continued his prowling.

He moved like a large sand cat, a beast, a wild animal – which was what he was, Obi-Wan reminded himself, and fortunately a caged animal. Once treated, he had recovered from his injuries remarkably quickly - certainly quicker than Xanatos – and Obi-Wan could feel the Sith straining against the confinement of his boundaries.

As always, near the Sith, it was startling to observe - to feel - how strongly the Force reacted to him. Vader was like an anti-gravity well, a densification of antimatter in the Force. As he prowled the length of his cell, the Force seemed to warp before and around him, large wave fronts parting and closing in his wake. Obi-Wan stared at the force fields on the windows and the doors, wondering how long they could hold him.

Vader's eyes followed the Jedi's. "When I want to leave, I will give you fair warning," His lips twisted in a feral grin, "by killing you first."

Obi-Wan smiled back with equal affection and said nothing. He was waiting.

Vader reached the end of his wall and turned back again. When he reached the opposite end, where the cot was, he kicked it hard.

"Is she still here?"

Obi-Wan's smiled broadened.

Vader rounded on him, snarling. "Answer me, Jedi!"

"Why are you asking me? Are your powers _limited_ in anyway?"

Vader's eyes were flashing, angry lights. "You've done something to me, haven't you? Made it so I can feel the Force, but I can't touch it." His body was dense with barely restrained rage, his fists were clenched. "You've poisoned me, haven't you?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "Actually, _she_ did. It's a speciality of hers, being a Guardian and all."

Vader stared. In seconds his eyes went from enraged to shocked to … He looked away, and after a second, continued pacing. Faster. With less grace.

Obi-Wan's smile slipped.

"You're never going to get anywhere near her," he said sharply. "Get that fantasy out of your mind, once and for all."

For someone who couldn't touch the Force, the Sith certainly could direct hatred through it quite effectively. Obi-Wan gasped, raising his shields moments too late.

"The bounty hunter found her for me, didn't he?" Vader said softly. He didn't look at Kenobi.

"And we know how well that worked out," Obi-Wan snapped, the Sith's hatred clinging to his skin like sticky cobwebby fingers. "Stay away from her," he warned. "Stay away from her mind. Stay away from her dreams."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know very well what I'm talking about!"

Vader looked up then. His eyes were so narrowed that they appeared to be closed. For a moment, Obi-Wan thought the Sith was wincing with thought. It was when Vader started speaking that the Jedi realized that he was smirking.

"How long do you actually think you can keep me from her?"

In the Jedi's mind, he had already lifted his palms and made his body into a lightning rod for the Force. In the Jedi's mind, this Sith _disease_ was already a smoking, charred lump on the floor, a piece of garbage waiting to be thrown out.

Obi-Wan turned on his heels sharply. "Lower the fields!"

Long after he had left the demon's cage, the Sith's laughter was still ringing in his ears.

_tbc_


	4. Waking Dreams II

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

**

**4, Waking Dreams, II **

Long before a lot of the younger Jedi – and even some of the older ones could remember, a small office had been prepared and reserved for the Guardian whenever he or she lodged on Yavin IV. It was a cramped room that looked like the hybrid of an apothecary and an archive. Vials filled with bubbling fluids hummed above old-fashioned burners while while datapads and a decrepit looking console balanced precariously on a rickety old table in the middle of the room. Large plasti-glass containers of multi-coloured stones dotted each corner of the room, ancient tomes hung precariously from the overhanging shelves, dusty parchment sinking to the ground even at this very moment.

At this moment, a large tome lay open on the table, and the Guardian of this time, a certain Padmé Naberrie of Naboo, was poring over it, her brow frowning with concentration.

Padmé was half-bent over the tome, her mouth mumbling words while her hands stirred a concoction in a small bowl by her side. She stopped stirring for a moment to turn the page with one hand, and dust flickered to her face. She sneezed absentmindedly, ignoring the fine sheen of powder that had fallen on her skin and clothes. She wore a long, high-necked dark robe that covered her hands and throat, easy to clean and effective for hiding the bruises that appeared on her pale skin every morning.

"I think you should leave, Padmé."

She started violently, her body reacting before her mind registered the voice.

Obi-Wan reached out a hand and froze the spinning bowl inches from his face.

"I would have knocked but the door was open," he said warily.

"Sorry!" Padmé gasped. She went round the table to meet him, closing the tome as she did so.

"No harm done," he said easily, as he lowered the bowl back to the table. He helped her gather the strange mixture of dust and seeds that had fallen out of the bowl when she turned it into a missile.

When they had set everything in order, he took her hands. "How are you feeling?"

Padmé worked her jaw contemplatively. "I can chew solid foods now." Her eyes danced.

He laughed. "Well, everything that counts is in order, then." His laughter died as he turned serious again. "I've made arrangements for you to leave tomorrow."

She took her hands back at once. "You're sending me away?"

"I would have sent you sooner if you had recovered faster."

"I thought the Grandmaster wanted me here?"

Obi-Wan sighed, ran a hand over his hair. "He did but until he gets here…. Padmé, it's not safe for you here."

"Why?" she asked coolly.

He tried to look away. "You know why…"

Her eyes were remorseless. "Because of Vader? Shouldn't you have thought about that that before you decided to make me his bait?"

Obi-Wan winced. "I had nothing to do with that," he said softly.

"Not at first," Padmé retorted. She walked away from him, leaned against the table and folded her arms. "I'm not going anywhere, Obi-Wan. And not just," she continued loudly, overriding his words, "because I don't want to wait one moment longer to give the Grandmaster a piece of my mind. You need me here. How long do you think you can hold him down on your own?"

"I've thought of that," Obi-Wan said at once. "There are alternatives. Chemical sedation through his meals. Raising the force fields. Cruder than yours but serviceable."

"You don't have the power capability to raise those shields any higher. You can barely sustain them as they are now. He'll build a tolerance to any drugs you give him in weeks, maybe even days." One by one, she ticked off his suggestions with hard-nosed efficiency. "For all we know, he's already building one to what I give him."

Obi-Wan remembered the sensation of matter and dimensions, parting and breaking before the Sith. "He's not."

"Well?" Padmé smiled. He had just emphasized the importance for her to remain.

Her smile infuriated the Jedi. "You're not taking this seriously, at all, are you?"

"Taking _what_ serious, Obi-Wan?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "Darth Vader! You're not taking Vader seriously. You know that he wants… that he tried…" As he stumbled for words that had suddenly become difficult to grasp, his face gradually reddened.

"He tried to what? Hire a bounty hunter to find me so he could turn me into his sex slave?" Padmé asked innocently. She laughed at loud as Obi-Wan's face burned. "It is rather flattering from a certain point of view."

He resisted the urge to shake sense into her head. "This is a joke to you."

Padmé smiled. "Obi-Wan, how can I be afraid _here_? Surrounded as I am by an army of Jedi?"

"And your dreams?" He snapped. "Can an army of Jedi protect you from dreams?"

Padmé rolled her eyes and looked away. "Don't be ridiculous, Obi-Wan. Nobody has that kind of power. You should know that."

"Should I?" He persisted. "What do we Jedi have to teach us? Books? Old writings from people who barely understood their own powers? Everyday we discover new things in ourselves, and in the Force. Alarming things. Even the Grandmaster doesn't know it all."

"Slander," Padmé whispered, her voice mock-shocked. Obi-Wan ignored her.

"I do know one thing. Darth Vader is powerful. He's more powerful than any_thing_ I've ever encountered. And for some reason, he wants you."

"For _some_ reason? That's not very flattering."

Obi-Wan made a growl of utter exasperation. Padmé lifted her face and looked him in the eye. Her face was absolutely calm, not trembling with fear as he would have preferred – which was not surprising considering the fact that in quarter century he had known her, he had _never_ seen her face (or any part of her body, for that matter) trembling with fear. At least not fear for herself, anyway.

"We all want things we can't have," she said quietly. "I want _not_ to have been used as Sith bait. I want my Grandmother, my sister and my family back. I'm not likely to get them, am I?" Darkness flickered in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Obi-Wan. Not until I've seen the Grandmaster. And if an army of Jedi can't keep me safe from this Sith, then no-one can." She turned away, picked up her bowl and drifted back to the other side of the table.

Obi-Wan looked at the implacable bend of her head over her tome.

"And your dreams?" he asked desperately. "What about your dreams?"

A veil of dust floated over her dark head as she turned a page.

"Dreams pass in time."

''

"You're very quiet, child," Winama said gently, as she collected the bowl from her granddaughter.

Padmé turned her gaze from the window with a smile. The bright light that flooded the room made Winama's white cloud of hair glow like a holo around a face that was softer, more peaceful than Padmé remembered.

"I'm just tired," Padmé said. "I'm sorry, I came here to help you prepare the meal and I've been-"

"Hush, hush, child!" Winama replied with a laugh, as she pushed Padmé away from the stove and into a chair by her side. "Who won't be, with such a –" Her eyebrows wriggled expressively.

"Winama!" Padmé gasped, not knowing whether to be shocked, outraged or amused. Her grandmother winked broadly.

"I wasn't born _old_," the woman retorted. "Why, the things your grandfather and I-"

This alarming conversation was fortunately cut short by the arrival of Sola and her children. Padmé smiled gratefully as the graceful, willowy form of her elder sister, flanked at either knee by her little bundles of energy, descended on Padmé in a warm hug.

"So glad you could come and visit," she said softly, kissing Padmé gently on each cheek. Her eyes were wide and brown and her face, which managed to be like Sabé's and Padmé's and Winama's at the same time was every wonderful memory that Padmé ever had. She was enveloped with the light and warmth of her family.

"I missed you so much, Sola," Padmé said softly.

She watched her sister embrace her grandmother and her hand reached for the bowl on the table. Her little nieces started climbing over her. The little one had fine, fair hair like Matol Jankerrie's and it ticked Padmé's nose.

''

She sneezed and the dust on the tomb rose and fell in an angry cloud.

_tbc_


	5. Broken Wings II

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**5, Broken Wings II **

_a/n: Chapter 1 was renamed 'Waking Dreams/Broken Wings'_

Whatever the bounty hunter had given her had lasted much longer than an hour. He had waited on the landing platform for as long as he could, then carried his prize back to the Palace. When he got to his chambers, Threepio was there to greet him and Vader deactivated the droid with a single word.

Silently, he carried her to his bed and laid her there, his heart jumping inside him with terrified elation as he noted the way the dark silk sheets cushioned her small frame, contrasted against her pale skin. He knelt beside the bed and gently, reverently, he untied the knot she had made in her hair and her curls sprang free into his fingers. They were silkier than even the sheets, softer than anything he had ever felt, save her lips. He let his fingers slide from her hair to her neck, the soft skin of her throat.

_You have no right to this. You know that, don't you? _

His fists clenched at the insidious whisper in his mind.

_I don't care. _

There was a knock on the door. He stiffened. He had sent for the Jedi healer the moment he arrived in the Palace. But she had come too soon. He was not ready to share his prize with anyone just yet.

The knocking persisted.

Snarling, feeling like if he was being torn into two, he let go of Padmé Naberrie for the first time since the bounty hunter had placed her in his arms and stalked to his door.

"Hello, Vader," She said, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Had any mortal wounds inflicted recently?"

Vader barely registered the rudeness, just grabbed her hand and dragged her to Padmé Naberrie's inert form. "Wake her."

The Jedi took one look at the Guardian and stiffened in shock. For a moment she seemed as if she was frozen.

"Are you deaf, Jedi?"

Her face turned from the Guardian to him. She looked almost faint with horror. "How dare you!"

Shame and anger exploded in his mind and he had to clench his fists to stop from striking the accursed Jedi. "Do not try my patience," he snapped.

The healer was backing away, shaking her head almost blindly. "You are mad. Mad!"

He grabbed her and yanked her forward, stopping just short of throwing her on the bed. "I just gave you an order! Wake her!"

"What do you want with her?" The Healer shouted, her eyes wide with shock - fear - horror - disgust. "As if I can't tell. It's pouring out of you like a poisoned flood. You monster. How dare you even imagine -"

Vader struck her cheek so hard, he sent her flying across the room. She hit one of the thick pillars that held up the high ceiling of his chamber with a small cry.

_"You monster." _

He stalked to the apprentice as she dragged herself to a sitting position, sniffling. Pathetic creature. His anger consumed his whole world, blinding him to everything else. They were like a dagger in his hand, begging to plunge into this Jedi's - _anyone's_ throat. Instead, he bent down and dragged her to her feet - by her hair - with a snarl.

"How many ways do you think you can die, Jedi?" he spoke to frightened eyes.

"I --- I will n-never…"

He pulled at her hair. Hard. She shouted, crying and struggling ineffectually against his grip, swiping the hand tangled in her hair. He had pulled her _off_ her feet, suspending her over the floor by her hair. The pain was enough to make her swoon but he did not permit it. He pulled her face right up to his own.

"I can arrange for _all_ of them. A thousand deaths and more. But you still not die. Only live from one pain to another until your life is one long blur of blood and fear, begging for an escape. And live, you will. Is that what you want?" He shook her violently (by her hair).

She was crying openly now, her face twisted in the agony that he was so good at inflicting to others.

The Jedi was right: self-loathing was like a well of poison in him.

"Is that what you want?" Vader roared, repeating his question. His heart was pounding so loud; he had to shout to hear himself.

The Jedi opened her mouth to speak what might very well have been her last words and -

"No, that's not what she wants."

Vader dropped the Jedi, not even aware of her body falling like a rag doll to the floor, and turned at once.

If the Sith was a poisoned well, then _she_ was a life-giving spring. The very sight of her liquefied his bones. Every part of him was melting.

Her eyes were large and brown and he could see himself, his dark-robed figure reflected in them. They were flashing from him to something at his back. Her mind was clearly working very quickly.

"Let her go," Padmé Naberrie said softly.

Her voice was like everything and nothing he could imagine - and she was talking to him, looking at him --- with alarm and he suddenly realized that he was shaking.

Frightened at what his face, his eyes must be betraying, Vader looked away from her at once. His hands clenched painfully as he tried to control his body's trembling. He breathed in, long and deeply as he had been taught, and this time, they only fanned the flames within him.

There was a pause and then Padmé Naberrie finally said, "Your business is with me, isn't it?"

_What was she talking about?_ He asked, staring down at the red carpet with a sense of utter befuddlement. He couldn't think. He could only feel her - alive, awake, before him.

"M-my lady," something young and weak whimpered behind him. He felt the blessing of Padmé's gaze leave him. "F-flee, I'll protect y-"

The Jedi! He realized with shock. He had completely and utterly forgotten about her, forgotten about everything - until the stupid Jedi had dared take Padmé Naberrie's attention from him. Without turning or taking his eyes off the prize before him, Vader raised one hand and threw the Jedi away from Padmé Naberrie's line of sight.

"Stop it!" Padmé Naberrie shouted. "Leave her alone!"

_Who are you to give me orders?_ His defiance came out of long habit, looking at her incredulously even though his heart was leaping, jumping in his ribs at her - magnificent in her imperiousness. Her eyes were flashing with anger - and fear, yes. He saw it and was gratified.

"Let her go," Padmé said, more softly now. The fear in her eyes was translating to her voice. "Just let her go and deal with me."

_Gladly!_ He thought. Half-afraid that she would vanish if he were to turn from her, he reached for the Jedi with the Force, pushing her whimpering, snivelling body across the floor and to the door.

"Let me go!" screamed the apprentice. "Mi-milady, I'll protect you…"

"You've done enough already, my dear," Padmé said and there were tears in her voice. Her eyes held Vader as she spoke, and he turned away.

His joy had deflated with that look. The old hopeless feeling of misery and guilt flooded through him. Growling, he pushed the apprentice's body through the door with exceptional violence and let it slam shut behind her.

He still didn't look at Padmé Naberrie.

"You should not have hurt her," she said quietly. "She was no threat to you and you know it."

His throat closed and he felt his heart start pounding an entirely different tempo. "I'm a monster, didn't you know?" And he almost died with shame at how his voice broke.

If Padmé Naberrie noticed it, she certainly didn't say so. "Is that what you believe?"

Vader looked at her. Her face was cool, composed, closed and pale. He had no idea what was going on in her mind. He was too overwhelmed with his own feelings to perceive her own. He would later learn that this was the mask she wore when she was intensely angry.

"That's what I've been told," he croaked. He was shaking again.

Something shifted in her face. It took him a moment to recognize it because he had never in his life seen it in a gaze directed at him.

Compassion.

Vader turned away, horrified at what was burning behind his eyes.

"Do you always become what you're told to be?"

There was gentleness in her voice and it undid. He turned his head, this way and that and then he broke down, choking out her name as he reached for her.

She stepped out of the length of his arms with a frightened gasp.

He looked at her in hurt confusion, feeling her rejection like knife wounds in his chest.

Her eyes were just as confused, although not as much as she might have wanted them to be. She was staring at him with a mixture of shock and horror. "What do you want with me?"

He let his eyes tell her.

Padmé Naberrie's face, already pale, turned completely white. "Never."

Vader had anticipated it, expected it - known fully well that no reason known to gods or men would have made her react in any other way - and yet when it came…

He felt like if his body was being torn open with a blunt object. No, it was worse than that. His body _had_ been torn open with a blunt object before - and that was Nothing compared to what the revulsion, the rejection in Padmé Naberrie's eyes did to him. He couldn't breathe.

_Surprised?_ That horrible voice of honesty whispered in his mind.

Something inside Vader was breaking. He felt like if pieces of himself were flying apart, shattering against the chrome and ebony walls of his chambers and disintegrating. He would not permit her to destroy him. Instead, he pulled himself together with a strong, unforgiving hand and looked at Padmé Naberrie.

She was backing away, her face alive with horror. Once again, he saw his reflection in her eyes - the whole dark, menacing length of himself.

So he revulsed her, did he?

"You don't have a choice, _My _Lady," he informed her, grateful that his voice was at least strong again, feeling the whispers beating against his skull.

_Demon. Beast. How dare you imagine - _

I dare.

"I will kill you if you touch me," Padmé said. Her eyes told him she meant it. Her body was tightening like a spring ready to let loose.

For the first time since he had found the Jedi Kenobi - and the holo-image that had brought him to this moment - Vader laughed.

She shouldn't have backed away from him. She left him - beast, demon, _monster_ that he was - with no other choice than to stalk her, his prey.

After all, that was what monsters _did. _

"You will try," he promised her.

_tbc_


	6. Inferno II, Awakening

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**6, Inferno II/Awakening**

_Her world was fire, blood and smoke. She was the mother of skulls and ashes. She bore them. She fed them. She ate them. _

Padmé clawed her way out of the nightmare with her hands and her feet, fighting for her life, for her very soul. She woke up gasping and then choking and then coughing – sand and blood.

_Skulls and ashes. _

She groaned. Her head was on fire. And her chest. And her stomach. The joints of her bones. Her whole body. After she had retched herself empty, she realized that her mouth was completely dry. She lay back on the ground, curled into a foetal position and willed herself to die.

_Dead. I am dead. _

But death – like life – never came as willed. After a while, the burning sensation eased, and she could feel moisture in her mouth again. Gradually her last conscious moments came to her.

Her voice taunting Jango Fett about Sabé. The bite of the chains in her hands as his neck broke. The sight of slippery blood trailing after her. The shock of not even knowing she had been shot. Leaving Coruscant. Blackness. The jump. Fire. Falling. Falling… Dying…

No, the dying part was clearly wrong.

She opened her eyes and shut them at once. The light was so bright that all she saw was blackness.

More sensibly, she opened one slowly. Then the other.

One. Two.

Two suns. Not Coruscant then, which was a relief. Moving gingerly, so as not to start the maelstrom of pain again, she pulled herself to a sitting position.

The double glare took some getting used to but after a while, during which the pain in her body subsided to a dull echo, she was able to see enough to examine herself. Despite the initial pain, nothing seemed to have been broken – she could make all the necessary small movements with her body. Her robes were all but rags, torn – _burnt? _– and filthy. She sniffed the air around her and would have retched again if there had been anything inside her. She smelt like a slaughterhouse, bloody and sickening. Grimacing, she turned away from her self and examined her surroundings.

The bright blue sky met the yellow sand in a line so sharp, Padmé could almost reach out and touch it. Before her, sand stretched as far as her eyes could see. A flat carpet of desert broken only by two things – the mangled mess that she recognized as the bounty hunter's ship crashed, broken and melded with _another craft?_ – and the small lump of ragged clothes a few yards from her. It was shaped like a humanoid, lying on its side.

"Hey!" she shouted and immediately tears filled her eyes. Her throat was so dry, her words almost cut it. She wiped the tears off with her fingers and sucked on them gratefully. Her parched throat was soothed somewhat.

"Hey," she said more softly.

The rags/body didn't stir. She would have to go to it, then.

Slowly, painfully, she crawled. Or more accurately, she pulled herself across the sands. Hands. Knees. Then feet. Hands. Knees. Then feet. She felt like she was moving forever. Her clothes were particularly ragged at the knees, and each time she pressed a part of her body on the sand, she felt like if she was being branded there.

Hands. Knees. Then feet.

She never once noticed that though she left behind a trail of ashes and grime, there was no blood in her wake.

Her eyes narrowed at her destination. Was it her imagination or was it shifting away? Her jaw clenched and she pulled herself even harder. Rage had always been the best motivation in her life.

No, it hadn't moved further. At last she got to the heap of rags/body. Rags _and_ body, it seemed. Exhausted, she just slumped, four-legged beside it, gasping with her mouth open and wasting precious, precious moisture.

"Hey," she said stupidly. Her breathing alone was loud enough to have wakened it. She sounded worse than Sabé did after one of her wild parties in the university.

Straining with the effort, Padmé leaned over the heap, standing on her knees and turned it around. She screamed.

_His face! His poor face! _

He was a human. A man – young or old, she couldn't make out from his face. Half of it was covered with burns, the skin soft and red, already changing into watery blisters at his cheek and chin. The unnatural blush extended to the edge of his neck just above his high dark tunic. Carefully, tenderly, she reached for his hands. There were lines of dried blood on his left hand. Bad cuts, but no burns. His right hand was a cindering black meld of skin and glove.

If she hadn't already emptied her stomach, she would have retched some more.

_Get a hold of yourself, child!_ Matol Jankerrie's voice said sternly in her mind and Padmé swallowed.

His clothes were in an even worse state than hers. He looked like if he had walked through fire – there were holes in his clothes ringed with burn marks, and the skin through it was red and blistering. Shaking slightly, she reached into his collar, and felt for a pulse. His skin was warm – she had noticed that when she turned him around – but his pulse was gone.

Dead.

_The mother of skulls and ashes. She bore them. She fed them. She ate them. _

"No," Padmé whispered. "No. You're not dead."

She pushed his limbs until he lay spread out, his legs slightly apart but aligned with his torso, his hands on either side. Then she grabbed the grotesque face in both hands, tilted it so his chin pointed vertical, and forced his mouth open. She pressed her lips against his and forced her own air into his lungs.

"You're not dead!" She muttered furiously, as she started pounding on his chest. She repeated the words grimly in her mind when she repeated the cycle, giving him the Kiss of Life, then slamming at this heart with her fists. _You're not dead! _

Padmé never remember how many cycles she did. She remembered pounding against his chest so hard she was afraid she would crack his ribs. Shouting and screaming, giving in to the kind of hysteria that she had never experienced since as a small girl, she had watched her sister die by fire.

She did remember that the sand was cool on her knees, one sun hovered in the horizon, and the long shadow of the dead ships had fallen over her when she was rewarded with the first gasping, raspy breath. He coughed ashes into her mouth.

_tbc_


	7. The Pilgrimage

**Kaleidoscope**

_**

* * *

** _

**author's note:** The Kiber crystal appeared in the earliest draft of Star Wars as the GFFA equivalent of the Holy Grail. Uncle George abandoned it for very good reasons, but it made a reappearance in the first EU novel, 'Splincter of the Mind's Eye' in a weaker incarnation called the Kaiburr crystal. The point of this rambling note is to explain that the Kiber crystal depicted in this chapter (and story, and 'verse), is closer to its original incarnation and importance in the GFFA -than the Kaiburr crystal of actual canon.

**7, The Pilgrimage**

Death means 'not alive'. That is all. It is not synonymous with 'without power' and never with 'without influence'. Even now, the greatest shapers of the world come from beyond the abyss of time.

So it was with great reverence that the Pilgrim made his trek across the Valley of the Dead, the ancient burial ground of the last of the old Jedi Order. It was high noon – as it had always been and will ever be – in the valley, and the cold gazes of the seven ancient suns made his shadows converge into a small dark circle beneath his feet.

The Force was strong here, alive, and throbbing with the many wounds that its children inflicted on themselves. The Pilgrim's senses were not heightened – they had soared. He could feel everything from the living abomination of the Emperor in Coruscant to the tiny life that was just being hatched from an egg in the swamps of Naboo.

Above him, the tall statues of warriors long dead loomed. Dead, but not gone. Their spirits brushed past him as he walked, he saw them as silvery lights, insubstantial but _there_. In the living connection that was the Force, they spoke to him in many languages, whispering words of caution, asking questions.

_…what have you done?… _

_"What had to be done," _the Pilgrim replied, speaking without voice and with more ease than a conversation with words. In the Force, there was no lie, no mask. The layers of deception required to survive in the physical world were removed until the truth remained, stripped naked and bare.

The Pilgrim listened to their advice, answered them where he could and the Dead led him deep into the Valley, through the maze of crags and cliffs that hid the entrance of the last Citadel of Light.

The trap-door buried so perfectly by the red soil that a stranger would have walked over it for a lifetime and never discovered it. He knelt down and felt for its sides. A small square plank of densified duraconcrete, threaded at one side so that it opened with a sliding motion, the trap-door was about the weight of ten large Uliphants. He groaned as he grappled the edges and struggled to roll it across the old, rusty thread. It would have been easier to use to reach into the Force and throw it open. Easier and fatal. It would be the equivalent of lighting a match on a gas moon. If he only succeeded in destroying himself, he would count the casualty optimistic.

Finally, the door rolled open. He breathed heavily as he looked down at the winding staircase that descended into darkness. Gathering his robes around him, he began his descent.

"1… 2…" He counted the steps out loud while he continued his conversation with the Dead.

_…a living nexus…_

_"The One of the prophecy," _the Pilgrim insisted. "63… 64…"

_…Sith… _

_"Power must be taken where it is found." _"105… 106…"

_…the Guardian…_

He paused. Lost count. Had to wait for a long moment to remember while Dead pressed around him.

_…the Guardian…_

_"Every sacrifice requires a victim." _"367… 368…"

There was silence for a long time.

"618… 619…"

_…perilous…_

_"It has already begun. No dam will stem this flood." _

"625."

The Pilgrim stopped. The steps continued down into the abyss. The light from the open trapdoor, hundreds of metres above him, had long since been swallowed by the darkness. All that remained was the incandescence of the Dead. He detached the lightsabre that from his belt and switched it on. The blue blade flared to life, and the spirits shimmered.

He took the large step that carried him from the stairwell to the entrance of the Cave. The narrow corridor was barely his own width.

Soft laughter. _…fat in your old age…_

The Pilgrim smiled. _"Not for much longer." _

The answering lights from the Cave were twinkling in greeting long before he had traversed the corridor. Then he was in the cave itself, and it was as if Darkness had never been.

A small room, perhaps six metres across and roughly circular, with a roof as high as a cathedral. And from every inch of the ceiling, the walls, the entire room was covered hung shards of living crystals. They absorbed the light of the ghosts and his own blade; made it their own and reflected it back in myriad colours visible and invisible to the living eye, a symphony of light and of glory.

The Force swelled even more powerfully in him. He did not have to look down to know that his feet were no longer on the ground. He was almost as insubstantial as the ghosts themselves.

For the first time since he visited the Cave, the Pilgrim was not overawed by the sheer radiance and power of the Crystals. His eye had drawn to the One – the Kiber. The perfect crystal – with more facets than the eye could see, perfectly symmetrical when viewed from all angles. Unless you knew exactly where to look for it – you would never see it. For one, it was the smallest crystal in the room, and usually hung by invisible ropes in the exact centre of the cave, between the ceiling and the floor. But also, it absorbed the light so completely that it reflected nothing except blackness.

_…see?… _

_"Yes, I see it." _

The Kiber had always hung by invisible ropes in the exact centre of the cave, between the ceiling and the floor. That was how it had always been. Until now.

The Pilgrim picked the tiny crystal from the floor, and the perfect blackness sank into the palm of his hand. For a moment, all he felt was his own overwhelming sadness. Then the pain started. Like the lines that crossed his palm, they radiated from the crystal, up his arm… through the route of his veins to his heart….

He fell to his knees, gasping and covered the Kiber with his palm.

_… not drop it!… _

_"I know," _he snapped back; his irritation magnified by the sheer pain that was pushing him flat on the floor.

For with the Force, he had seen with more than his own stunted eyes. The Kiber – the perfect crystal – was cracked. Three strong lines and several thinner paths arcing from – or merging into – one vergence. By holding the crystal in his hand, he had become part of it and even now the fault lines were sinking into his essence.

_… the end…_

_"Tell me one thing," _he asked before his individual consciousness returned to the Force. _"It will end. It will end, won't it?" _

The ghosts shuddered and fell silent, as the Pilgrim's heart began to crack apart. Then they spoke – first with one voice, then a loud roar of answers all spoken at the same time.

_…you expect?… _

…provoked…

…the one…

…to wield…

…can destroy…

…will destroy…

…create?…

…a new order…

…to which end?…

…fate…

… fates…

…in motion, always…

And then there was silence. The long silence of the abyss as the Dead waited for the Grandmaster of the exiled Jedi Order to make the final journey between time and eternity.

_**tbc**_


	8. The Changing of the Guard I

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**8, The Changing of the Guard I**

It was late night on Yavin. After his usual practice of evening exercise and contemplation, Obi-Wan stretched his body on the hard mat – a lot less comfortable than Vader's cot, he thought with no small irritation – and closed his eyes. The worries he had been carrying with him for the past seven days had already been filtered out of his aura during his meditative routine. Padmé. Darth Vader. The safety of the Jedi, all clustered as they were on Yavin. The Grandmaster who had left barely moments before they had arrived on Coruscant, and whom Obi-Wan had not heard from since…

All those worried had been yielded to something greater than himself. When Obi-Wan lay down that night, his mind and heart were at peace and he fell asleep almost immediately.

''

_28 Years Ago_

His father had been a rich cloth trader from a world Obi-Wan knew but deliberately forgot. He barely remembered the older Kenobi's face, only his scratchy beard when he lifted Obi-Wan for a hug. He still remembered the vivid colours in the basement, the little caves of silk and cotton where he hid – why? He didn't remember. He remembered his mother's perfume more clearly than he did her face.

That he remembered at all was a failing.

"Your affections are your strength. Do not deny your them," his Masters told him later.

Obi-Wan was a model student in every regard but that one.

They had travelled to Alderaan for business. Obi-Wan huddled close to his parents in the cruiser and tried not to look too hard at the two hooded figures when they passed the family in the cafeteria. He was not the only one. Everyone else on board regarded the elite passengers with equal respect and fear.

He still remembered his mother's whisper.

"The Emperor's Hands," she said to his father.

It was a testament to his determination that even though he vividly remembered all the events of the day that his life before and his life after were cleaved so cleanly apart – his memory of his parents even on that day remained vague and indistinct.

When they were boarding, the elite ones had approached his parents. He forgot the conversation the way he forgot most things about his parents.

His parents had been sad – and proud. That he remembered.

The Hands had left the spaceport with the Kenobis.

Later on, he found out that there was a vessel waiting to take them to the Capital where the Royal Family themselves would have hosted the family – and their new travelling companions. Later on, he found out that the Jedi did _not_ sabotage the vessel – but a pure chance caused the delay – and his salvation. Later on.

While he huddled between his parents on the coach, he had watched the bird-like woman with snowy hair make her way gracefully down the aisle.

The only seat to spare was across from him. Her eyes were brown and lively in her lined face and she had smiled at him.

Longing filled his heart so sharply that he couldn't breathe. His mother had touched his hair, he remembered that.

"Obi-Wan, are you alright?"

He remembered his mother's question, even though he couldn't remember her voice. He remembered how Winama's eyes had fixed on him and how the tears had filled his eyes. He didn't take his eyes off her all through out the journey, not even to sleep.

They travelled for eighteen hours.

Halfway through the journey, the old woman had bought sweets and shared with the family. His mother must have been an unassuming woman, to have allowed him to eat them. Or maybe it was the idea of the two silent sentinels seated across from them in the aisle. They had looked up when the old woman made her offer, and then ignored her.

A few minutes before the boarding call, the old woman had left. He had waited with his parents, feeling his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

"I need to go to the 'fresher," he said at last.

He was four. He didn't need his mother to come with him and she didn't offer to follow. He turned the corner and the old woman was waiting.

"I want to come with you."

Her eyes were very, very sad. "Are you sure? Your parents will be worried. I don't know when you'll see them again."

"I want to come with you," he insited.

She took his hand. "You can always change your mind."

He hadn't. Not then. Not ever.

Later when he helped find children, he always marvelled out how the older ones hesitated – even the ones that had been rescued from Clinics and had witnessed first hand the harm their families did in their misguided efforts to 'cure' them.

"Attachments are not always sensible," his Masters told him, "and loyalties can be misguided. But it is our loyalty to those we love that make us different from The Others."

Obi-Wan looked down at Asajj Ventress, who wept herself to sleep every night even though her 'loving' father, when confronted with his child and her treatment in the 'Clinic', had almost succeeded in betraying her and the Jedi to the Imperial Police.

"I am loyal," Obi-Wan said. He just wasn't sure he loved. Or needed to.

''

_25 Years Ago_

To be a Jedi required a sound mind and a disciplined body.

He met the Grandmaster for the first time when he was nine. The old man had accompanied the Guardian and a few children to Hoth, and there they camped in the underwater caves and taken lessons in meditation and fencing.

"Do you ever wonder if you'd be happier elsewhere?" The Grandmaster asked him one day.

"No."

"Do you ever miss home, Obi-Wan?"

"This is my home." He meant it.

Even Grandmasters could be sad.

''

_19 Years Ago_

The little girl had bitten through his ear. He didn't realize it until almost a day later when the Grandmaster had found them, hiding in the sewers in Naboo.

"You saved the little girl."

"I failed," Obi-Wan sobbed. "I failed…"

The Grandmaster touched Obi-Wan's ear. Only then did he feel pain. Then a warm rush of sensation almost immediately eclipsed the pain.

The old, venerable face peered into the young boy's eyes. "You did well, Obi-Wan. One day you will realize that."

Later on, he told Obi-Wan that failure and success were illusions. All events, regardless of their outcome, were mere milestones in the tapestry of history. The most important thing was to do one's duty in the time that one had to do it. And Obi-Wan had done just that. One day, the Grandmaster said, Obi-Wan would realize it.

Nineteen years later, and the day had not come.

''

The blue blade blazed brightly out of his palm, an extension of himself. He wondered how he had ever lived without one.

''

"The Others are the victims, not you or I. Do not hate them, Obi-Wan. If there is one emotion you should spurn, it is hate."

''

_9 Years Ago _

Another mission gone wrong. Obi-Wan had huddled in his cot as the fighter left Corellia. _Failed. Failed. Failed. _

"Everyone makes mistakes," Asajj whispered.

He didn't answer.

It was the first time the Grandmaster had spoken to him sternly.

"Do want to be perfect, Obi-Wan? Do you think you can be flawless?"

"No, but-"

"Otherwise leave us, mere mortals! Submit yourself to the Emperor's Court! There mistakes are never tolerated! _There_ exists perfection!"

The old man's anger had frightened Obi-Wan badly.

''

There was no braid - it was too great an indication - but the dubbing on both shoulders remained of the ancient customs.

_"This is my home." _

He had never felt so sure of those words as the day the cold blade of the sabre rested gently against one side of his neck, then the other.

''

_6 Years Ago _

"Do you wonder if we're wrong and maybe the Others are the real heroes and we, Jedi, are just rebels?" Asajj whispered as they watched the ordination of the new Sith Lord via the holo-vid.

It was strange but Obi-Wan almost felt sympathy for the late Darth Vapaad. To be ousted by a boy was a humiliation anyone would feel.

"I do sometimes," Xanatos confessed. Obi-Wan stared at him shock and the older boy shrugged. "Sometimes," he said defensively.

Obi-Wan never did.

He studied the still-chubby face of the new Darth Vader and wondered – if that speeder had not malfunctioned – if he, Obi-Wan, would ever have been good enough to be a Sith Lord.

Foolish thing to think, really.

''

"What happens if my Grandmother does not train another?"

Obi-Wan frowned over his caf, unhappy at this line of questioning. "You mean…?"

"If she dies without leaving a successor." Bluntly.

He winced, pushed the caf away. "Well, it's happened before. There are a few non-sensitives that help Jedi as well as the Guardian. The Grandmaster will make an offer to one, and if he or she accepts, then some Jedi Masters will take up his training."

Her face was thoughtful as she sipped her caf. "So it's not an unbroken line."

"No, it's not."

She looked outside the window. It was springtime on Naboo, and there were children in the park outside the caf shop. They were rolling in a pile of autumn leaves, much to the consternation of the cleaning droids sweeping the park.

The pale afternoon light glowed against her profile. It was amazing really how she had grown from a rather plain child to a very beautiful woman.

Almost woman.

"Do you see those children outside, Obi-Wan? They look so happy, so full of life? It is only make-believe. Their happiness is a lie. As long as the Empire continues to exist on the sacrifice of the innocent, on lies and blood – everything of beauty in this galaxy is a lie."

Padmé Naberrie said it very plainly, very matter-of-factly. Obi-Wan didn't have a reply but then, she probably hadn't expected one.

So he said sternly. "Your grandmother has strongly forbidden us to teach you."

She smiled. "And that is why you came when I sent for you. Why you always come."

He bristled. "I am trying to keep you out of trouble." _And I follow the Grandmaster's orders, even though I do not always understand them. _

"What trouble? Now that Sabé's found herself a new boyfriend," – and here Obi-Wan tensed because he had never, ever forgiven Sabé Jankerrie – "I've never been as far away from trouble as I am now."

"All the more reason to keep an eye on you," Obi-Wan said sternly. "Your idleness might make you restless." _And if you press hard enough, I will give you the information you need – as I have been instructed to. _

Her smile widened, her attention still on the children outside.

"This is not a game, Padmé," he said sternly, irked.

She turned sharply to him then. Her eyes were narrowed into slits. Suddenly, she looked exactly like the little girl that had bitten through his ear. "Don't _you_ tell _me_ that this is not a game. My parents died because of this. So did my sister. You have lost no-one."

''

Padmé Naberrie already had an apartment of her own. She had come into her inheritance at the age of fourteen and left the Jankerries a year after. She was still tied to them, though. Visited them whenever she could. Sabé Jankerrie was a constant presence in her apartment. Whenever he visited her on Naboo, and tutored her on the rudiments of her chosen profession, he wondered at the emotional ties that everyone else seemed to form so easily.

''

He had broken the news to Padmé. It was the summer of the same year.

She had sat very quietly in the caf and watched a group of university students that she knew pass by in the latest summer fashions.

She was silent for a long time after he told her. This time, it was her eyes on her caf and her face was expressionless.

"I barely knew her," she said at last. Her voice sounded like if it was coming from far away. "When I was small, she was just an idea I had in my mind. I brought it out whenever Sabé was … difficult." She smiled a little. A twisted little smile. "The idea that Sola and I had family somewhere, and we could up and go live with my Grandmother when we so pleased. I barely remember all the times we met her as a child, stayed in her house for the holidays. Then there was the fire…"

The old sense of failure and anger filled him.

"I do remember when I told her to choose between me – and you."

"Me?" Obi-Wan said, shocked.

Padmé laughed a little and her head bent even lower over the table. It was a dry, choking laugh. "Your kind," she said simply.

"Then… then we met again and I didn't ask her to choose." She took a sip of her caf and he noticed that she was drinking her own tears. They ran down her cheeks, made her face almost translucent with grief.

He sat across from her and watched as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

He, too, had loved Winama.

''

_2 Weeks Ago _

Not just a mission to Coruscant, the Imperial Centre, but an infiltration into the Imperial Palace itself.

"He has to go with someone," Asajj exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear. She loved him, Obi-Wan suspected.

"It is imperative that he goes alone," the Grandmaster insisted. "I have other orders for you."

Before he left, he had taken Obi-Wan aside.

"You have the holo with you?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

The Grandmaster regarded the young Jedi. "You need to start one day."

"Start what, Master?"

"Asking questions. Questioning the wisdom of your 'betters'."

"Why-"

"Questioning every thing and everyone – even me."

Obi-Wan didn't argue. But he didn't agree either. The Grandmaster smiled ruefully because he knew that, too.

He turned to go and the Grandmaster stopped him, clamped his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"In all things, trust your feelings, Obi-Wan. And your heart. Especially your heart."

''

_Seven Days Ago _

His heart had told him not to kill Darth Vader.

''

_Now _

The persistent calling of his name made his wake. Then he saw it. For a moment he thought the image was an apparition. He had been studying with Padmé recently and they had just learnt about the ability to keep one's form even after becoming one with the Force.

It was not an apparition – just a holo-recording coming alive. But his first guess wasn't very wrong.

_"Master Obi-wan." _

"Master," he whispered, sitting up at once and staring at the holo-image. "Master, where are you?"

_"…programmed to activate if I've been gone for seven days…"_

It was a still, windless night on Yavin. But Obi-Wan felt a soft breeze touch the back of his neck. He didn't notice this. He was almost smacking himself for asking a question of a holo-recording…

_"…remember, Master Obi-Wan? I told you once that failure and success are illusions. They are merely milestones of history…"_

"Master?" He whispered, making the same mistake again and not caring. "Master, what did you call me?"

_"…only hope. As you will soon realize, Grandmaster Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Force will have its way with all…"_

_**tbc**_


	9. The Haunting

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**9, The Haunting **

There was no cloud. No spreading pall to cast its shadow over the hearts and souls of the Jedi on Yavin IV or their brethren scattered across the infinite corners of the galaxy - or even their separated brethren, wielding the Force with legal impunity in the highest echelons of the Empire.

The Force had already been clouded for hundreds of years. The hearts and souls of the Jedi had been in mourning for even longer. And as for the Others - the death of a Jedi was too commonplace for it to register as more than a drop in their awareness - especially when the Jedi was one as powerful as the Grandmaster who had taken certain steps to ensure that even after death, he still lived.

Yet one Sith Lord had felt the old Jedi die.

A hollowing in his ribs. A sense of loss - not the loss of a possession but of something he never had, never would have. And all the more painful for that.

He was sitting cross-legged in his cell sharpening an extremely powerful weapon - his will - when he had felt it.

First the whisper of sorrow. Then the outcry.

His eyes had flown open and he had stared at the invisible wall of the force-field in shock.

_Can it be? Is that -? _

And as suddenly as the feeling came, it left him.

Vader opened his eyes to find himself lying on his side on the hard floor, watching the mothballs floating in dawn's glow.

**_tbc_**


	10. The Hunting

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**10, The Hunting**

Elsewhere in the Empire, the Emperor and Sith Master was looking for his apprentice.

Neither Sith Lords nor Galactic Emperors tended to be the most pleasant of companies when crossed. There was something about the double combination of ultimate political and metaphysical power that intoxicated most sentients – and made other sentients extremely wary of the holders.

One very brave psychoanalyst once declared all the Emperors since the time of Bane's apprentice insane. Brilliant, yes. Charismatic, yes. Incredibly competent in their ability to hold the lives and minds of billions of sentients under the order and will of one individual – yes. And all the more insane for that faculty.

(The psychoanalyst didn't live very long after that declaration. And neither did the general profession of psychoanalysis in the Empire. But that's another story.)

The bottom line of the matter was that a Sith Lord _and_ a Galactic Emperor who had lost his apprentice was a person best approached from a very, very far distance.

It was with this prescience that the Emperor's Hand gave his report on the latest findings on Vader's disappearance. The pale blue figure of Ferus Olin seemed to flicker from more than signal interruptions as it knelt above the holoproj disk.

"Lord Vader himself de-activated the cam-droids, my Lord. Imperial detectives have confirmed that the scraps from the explosion on the landing platform indicate two vessels. One was identified as Lord Vader's, the other as a mercenary called Jango Fett."

"The Mandalorian bounty hunter?"

"Yes, my Lord. My Lord, there is—" The voice shook a little and Sidious growled. "My Lord… there is further evidence th-that s-someone was killed in that explosion-"

"I read your heart as clearly as glass," Sidious hissed and the tiny image of the Hand trembled. "You wish Lord Vader dead. He is not. You will do well to concentrate your efforts in finding him, Olin and not engage in foolish daydreams."

Olin had gone a very, very pale blue. "Yes, my Lord."

"Do not dare approach me again until you have news of his whereabouts."

Olin swallowed painfully. "Yes, my Lord."

Sidious killed the signal and the weak, ineffective image died with it. He strode to the balcony, overlooking the lake and the island in it. His eyes were not for the things below though. They were high above, glaring balefully at the pale dawn sky.

''

Seven days ago, Darth Vader had called into the Force with such agonizing desperation that Sidious had cut himself off from his bond with his apprentice in self-preservation. For precious minutes, he had lost contact with Vader, and when Sidious had reached back into the maelstrom of eternal power for his apprentice's hand, it was gone.

What remained were tremors in the Force, akin to the reverberations of an earthquake that had occurred almost a century before. These reverberations were so subtle that only an extremely powerful and skilled Force-user – who was desperately searching for _the_ most powerful, if not the most skilled, Force-user – noticed them.

Finally, Sidious had satisfied himself that the bond had not been severed. Indeed, only death could do that. And that made matters worse. What power could hold a Sith apprentice so far away from his Master, that the Master could not sense the other's location or his state of existence? What else could and was that power doing?

The Jedi. Sidious saw their hand in this as clearly as if they had sent a message and signed it with their stamp. Or more accurately, the stamp of the one that called himself the Grandmaster.

And no doubt with the help of the Jedi-keeper, the one they called the Guardian.

The old Sith had scoffed at the practice, mocked their weak 'brethren' for their dependency on a non-sensitive for protection. As Sidious' old Master Plageuis had always said: If the Force-wielders needed to seek shelter with those who could not touch that power, that alone was reason for their extinction.

Hundreds of generations of one unchallenged Dynasty and the old diseases had crept back into the Sith – over-confidence, and complacency. Over the centuries and under the sleeping eye of the Sith, the Jedi had grown in numbers from a scattered handful of half-trained defectors to a persistent cancer in the Empire – with the help of their Guardian. By mysterious techniques, these Guardians had the ability to hide sensitives from normal Imperial detection – even before they were born. Working hand in hand with the Jedi, the Guardian would then undertake the early training of these sensitives, and eventually lead them to the hidden covens of the Jedi, populating their numbers and swelling their ranks until they had become more than an irritation. They had become a plague.

Yes, indeed. The Guardians had been underestimated and they had grown in power greater than any Sith now could withstand. How else could Darth Vader, the pride and glory of the Sith, even greater that Darth Bane himself, have been captured?

Sidious resolved that this oversight would be corrected as quickly as possible. But first, Vader had to be recovered. The fact that he had not felt a severance of the bond between himself and his apprentice bothered him. Why did the Jedi hold Vader and not destroy him? Did they seek to turn him into one of their own? It had been done before.

"What are you up to, old friend?" The Sith Master whispered dangerously. "What wild, mad scheme are you plotting in that traitorous mind of yours?"

The soft rustling of the curtains in the room behind made him almost imagine that his whisper was echoed back - in the shape of an answer.

Fanciful.

The Sith Master meditated on his missing apprentice. And when that yielded no further revelations, he meditated on the complete annihilation of the Jedi and their devotees.

''

Not very far from where the Emperor brooded – (within the same world as a matter of fact although the other players were happily unaware of this fact) – the hunt for Darth Vader moved a little further to its goal as the wife of the new Deputy Governor of Theed opened a door and invited two of the Emperor's Hands into her home.

**_tbc_ **


	11. Broken Wings, Broken Feet

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**11, Broken Wings, Broken Feet.**

Vader's frame was precariously balanced on one hand, splayed flat on the floor. The tension in his muscles was a poor substitute for the power of the Force but like every good weapon, a Sith needed to be honed.

It was a bad position to fall out of and fall he did, hard and painfully against the floor.

''

_Earlier that same day... _

One of the first lessons Vader had learnt in the service of the Emperor – a lesson he had learnt long before the Force had given him the name of Vader – was that the most powerful thing in the world was his will.

'_Hone it. Sharpen it. Let it beiron in your grip. A sword to rent apart worlds or bind them with fury.' _

What happened last night was not an aberration. It would not have been the first time this Sith Apprentice had called into the Force and the Force had answered back. Literally. He steadfastly ignored the fact that his connection to the Force was impaired or that the answer was impossible or that he had heard the voice more clearly in his mind than he had done for years.

He had bigger things to worry about than ghosts.

Darth Vader's breath misted with the morning dampness as he pushed himself off the hard, duracrete floor with one arm, held his wiry frame rigid for a full-bodied minute, and then lowered himself back again. It was a cold dawn but his undershirt was already soaked through with sweat. The discipline of the body was almost as necessary as the discipline of the mind. And since the Sith Apprentice could not strengthen his connection to the Force, he needed to strengthen his body.

_Lying defenseless in the middle of a circle of Jedi, his own blade at his throat as each and every one of them strained for his blood… _

Of course, the Force had notleft the Sith. Far from it. It pressed ever more strongly against him, beating against the invisible boundaries, as frustrated by its inability to reach him, as he was by his inability to touch it.

The Guardian's doing - or so the Jedi claimed. Not that Vader had any reason to doubt Kenobi. Trapped in this cubicle for the past seven days, he had nothing to do but think. His mind had walked through all the twists and paths that had led him to this moment:locked downin the Jedi's stronghold, at the mercy of their whims. The Sith was painfully aware that his obsession had been the principal vehicle of this journey.

_Padmé Naberrie's voice…a warm animal winding through his ribs… bartering for his life… _

Swifter than ever, he lifted himself from the floor and heard the screaming protest of his muscle with vindictiveness.

In many ways, this present situation was not unfamiliar to Vader. Part of his training as a Sith apprentice had involved situations where a certain degree of Force-blindness had been inflicted on him. On occasion, his Master or his Teacher would spear him with a particularly intense bolt of power. The effect on his Force perception was like the deafness brought about by putting one's ear against an exploding device.

The lessons had stopped when Darth Vader had become immune to these 'strikes'.

A Sith did not need a weapon – not even the weapon of the Force – a Sith _was _a weapon.

'_So why are you still here, Lord Vader?' _

He grunted. Mid-lift from the ground, he switched arms, transferring the weight of his body to the left.

'_I need time to plan, to strategize, to discover-'_

'_You need her.' _Vader winced. _'You won't leave until you know how you can take her with you. That's why.' _

Snarling with defiance, he raised himself so furiously that the muscles in his left bicep almost pulled. As always the voice of his self-reflective self was merciless in its acuity.

'_Well then, so what? So what if I need her...? If I need... Padmé Naberrie.'_

Vader closed his eyes, breathed deeply. Saying her name in his mind was intoxicating. Her presence - she was…

_Her sunshine-moonshine face shining so close to his own as she poisoned him…_

Damn the Jedi! Damn Kenobi! Damn them all to a thousand Hells! Vader would have had her by now, in his home in the Imperial Palace, in his chambers…

'_You believe your dreams, then?' _

He had to stop moving. He was breathing so hard, his lungs could not keep up with his heart. He held himself up with both hands, and looked at the film of moisture he made on the cold floor.

The dreams… They'd be nightmares for every other factor but one - in each and everyone of them, she was with him. Whether in his home on Coruscant, or in a Sith-forsaken desert world in the Outer Rim, she was with him.

_Trapping her mouth as she slept… As she woke… _

_Hers filling his lungs with life… dove hands soft on his face… tears like pearls on his ruined hand… _

_Her ankle in his hands… so delicate… he kissed it… then broke it… _

'_You can't live in dreams, boy!' _He flinched as the voice changed and took the tone of his Master, Sidious. _'You make them come true. Not by wallowing here inutter failure, afraid of your dreamsceasing if you leave her presence.' _

"They will end," hehissed throughgritted teeth to the floor. He felt like if he was being torn into two. He knew the Emperor was looking for him. Vader could all but feel his Master's hand reaching through the thick fog of the Force that screened Vader, to grab his apprentice by the throat. The longer he remained here, the colder his trail would be, and the more endangered his hard-won place and position as heir to the Empire was.

Yes, the Hands would search for him and they would do so hard. They dared not defy the Emperor. The danger was not that they would not find him - it was in being rescued. If he, the Sith Apprentice and heir to the Empire, needed saving, then that was evidence that he was not fit to be the next Emperor. The thought of the power, the knowledge and influence of Sith Master going to someone like Ferus Olin made Vader's blood boil.

But if he were to escape… without her.

His mind instinctively shied away from that scenario and ruthlessly, he made himself consider it. Consider leaving without her. With his interest in her exposed and the Jedi putting measures in place to ensure that he never get near their precious Guardian.

He considered _living_ without her.

His breathing had shallowed. Spiderwebs crept into his vision.

"No! No! I won't!"

'_Until you become a master of yourself, you cannot be a master of anything else.' _

'_I am a Master! My will is indomitable!' _

And Vader resumed his body lifts, pushing himself so vigorously, he almost drowned out the voice.

Almost.

Itwas sad in its resignation.

'_Yes, it is. But no matter how powerful a weapon is, it is useless if it refuses to yield to its wielder.' _

''

The first thought that entered her mind when she opened her eyes was:

_The Grandmaster is dead. _

The second was:

_No nightmares. _

For the first time since she arrived on Yavin a week ago, Padmé Naberrie woke up from a dreamless sleep. For five breathless minutes, she just remained in her cot, revelling at the realization. The mothballs dancing in the early morning haze had never looked so beautiful.

Remembering something, she raised her wrists to her face. The skin was pale, completely void of bruises. So were the other usual suspects – her neck, the curve of her waist.

The obscure cure had worked.

It was a pity there was no one in the room to see that smile.

"My lady, are you dressed yet?" came Asajj Ventress's voice through the door of the small cabin.

"I'll be ready soon," Padme called back as she glanced at the chrono by her cot. _Goodness! _She gasped in alarm. For the first time since forever, she had overslept by hours! Feeling almost panicked with guilt at her tardiness, shelimped barefoot across the tiny room, gathering together the things she would need for a new day.

In a few minutes, the oldest Jedi Knights would preside over a general assembly of all the Jedi in order to decide the next course of action after the Grandmaster's death.

"He chose you, didn't you?" Padmé had asked - no, told - Obi-Wan the day before when he had given her an abridged version of the Grandmaster's cryptic missive.

Obi-Wan's face had still carried the blank look of shocked grief and he had rubbed his face with a tired hand. He had not slept since the night he had realized the old Jedi was dead. He hadn't answered her. But that was an answer unto itself.

As Padmé hastily donned her only custom - the long, black gown Jedi Sing had loaned her - she thought about the late Grandmaster.

_We were not particularly friends, you and I, _she decided sadly as she pulled her hair into an untidy braid. _I regret that. I think I would have learnt a lot about my Grandmother from you. But you never gave me a chance. _

In the end, she just felt sorry for Obi-Wan. He had adored the old Jedi. She wondered what the older Knights would think about the Grandmaster's request that Obi-Wan lead in his stead. There was no way of knowing, she decided as she struggled with her sandals. Padmé may have been their Guardian, but many things about the Jedi remained a mystery to her.

She needed to bend down to fit into the second sandal; her foot had probably swollen in the night. She grunted with impatience as she did so and froze.

Her right foot _was_ swollen. And bruised. The skin of her ankle was rubbed raw and red. A black andpurpletattoo arched from the ankle all the way down to the tip of her big toe.

Shestared at it for a long time.

Calmly, very calmly, she wore the sandal properly and limped the cabin.

''

The lace was a thin, rope of silk and it robbed her already swollen ankle sore. She hissed softly as she wore the unpractical shoes

He was at her feet in her instant.

Padmé froze like an animal caught in the crosshairs of a blaster rifle. Vader could feel her gaze, heavy and confused on his hair as he gently lifted her ankle – _you dare, you beast! _– and cradled it in his lap.

"You shouldn't wear these," he whispered softly. He could feel the fast pulse of her veins against his fingers. His heart was beating just as fast. It seemed that it was perpetually beating faster than normal these days. He wondered despairingly when - if - his body would ever stop betraying him in her presence.

"My old ones were destroyed," Padmé said curtly. She always spoke to him that way - curtly, sharply, harshly. No-one else would have dared and he would have resented her for it if he wasn't so grateful that she spoke to him at all. After… after their first conversation, she did not speak to him for six days.

Six days of cold, silent treatment.

He had watched her pine away in his rooms, her already frail frame fading. Vader had confronted her with threats, bribes and then finally silence as his own body froze from inside out. The life had been draining out of him as surely as if he was bleeding his own blood.

On the seventh day, he went on his knees before her and made her a solemn promise. When Padmé finally took the glass of water he offered her, and he watched the motion of her throat as she drank, he felt the warmth seep back into his own hands.

In exchange, he got this harsh treatment but Vader would rather be hated by Padmé Naberrie than ignored.

He bent over her feet, untying the rope gently. The skin of her ankle was raw and tender. Hewould carry her until it healed.

There was a familiar shuffling sound from behind him.

"Miss Padmé, there are a larger pair in the wardrobes that I am sure you will feel much more comfortable in."

Vader looked up to see Padmé's eyes soften as they turned to Threepio. "Thank you, Threepio," she said.

Her voice was so _kind_.

Jealousy - intense and completely irrational - smote Vader and his heart pounded painfully in his chest.

"You're hurting me," Padmé said - snapped.

He swallowed a self-directed curse as he loosened his grip on her ankle. His fingers had left bruises there. There were some on her neck, and waist that were still bright beneath the sheer gown she wore. Gifts from him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, blinking back the tears that always came so easily around her. He rested his head against her knee and felt her whole body tense at the contact. His already flailing heart ached. He couldn't… he _couldn't… _

"You're kinder to that droid than you are to me," he choked out through the tightness in his chest.

For a moment, he thought Padmé wouldn't deign reply. Then she spoke - harshly - "What do you expect?"

He swallowed again, feeling his body begin to shake. Again.

_You're a monster. What _did _you expect? _

"You hate me." The silk cloth trembled with his breath. "You've hated before you even met me. Hated me because of something I can't help being."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Anger came quick and easy to Vader and he looked up at her. He saw surprise on her face even as she matched his glare. "You've been brainwashed by the Jedi into hating my kind. You don't really 'see' me."

"See you?" Padmé had gone very white; her face was almost serene in its utter expressionless. He could feel anger vibrating just beneath her skin, feel the tiny bones in her ankle shake in his large hands.

They were both shaking now.

"What is there to see? What are you if not a Sith?"

"That's not all I am!"

The words left his mouth in a kind shocked shout. They stared at each other in confusion. Even the voice in his head was silent.

"Prove it then," Padmé said finally.

"How?" He asked eagerly. He could feel his yearning pouring out of his voice but he did not care.

"Let me go."

Her words were a blow to his face. He actually recoiled. He grasped her ankle convulsively before he fell.

_No… No, please I can't…_

"I don't belong here. You know that, don't you?" There was no pretense in Padmé's voice: she was openly pleading now. .

_You've always known that. _

_No, please… _

_Just let her go_. _She may even stop hating you. You may even stop dying a little bit each day…._

His face set into stone.

_Then let me die. _

"No," Vader said and his will was iron.

Her own face twisted with disappointment.

"Let _go_ of me," she snapped, and yanking her ankle from him so fiercely that she hurt herself, Padmé kicked him sharply in the ribs.

''

Almost every Jedi on Yavin IV would be in the large makeshift assembly hall located East of the Temple. Whatever was decided this morning would make a large impact on the fate of the Jedi Order as they knew it.

Every Jedi except the three who stood guard against the Sith Lord.

Asajj Ventress's eyes widened in shock as the small, dark-robed woman walked down the narrow corridor to the sentries at its end.

Around the time the Jedi was arguing with the Guardian, Lord Vader was having a very nasty fall.

The Sith got to his feet quickly enough. He was still far from equanimity when the Guardian stepped through the force fields.

Strange how the limp giving her sway extra grace.

_**tbc**_


	12. Inferno III

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**12, Inferno III**

_14 Years Ago_

He didn't want to.

"Come here."

If he had his way, his feet would have dug roots into the sand.

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

The voice was almost kind. If he hadn't already been scared, that would have told him.

He looked away from the promise of pain in the golden eyes to the beckoning flames.

Beautiful. Terrible. Glorious in its horribleness.

He really, really didn't want to.

His eyes were so wide that they tore at the corners and bled tears.

"I won't ask you again."

He swallowed hard. Painfully and slowly, his feet dragged across the sand.

There were all kinds of fear. He was fast learning that the dread of pain was worse than the pain itself. The first bite of the flames was almost a relief.

Then he started screaming.

"Stop that noise, boy!"

Hot air filled his nostrils, his mouth, his lungs… His own tears were burning his face…

His weak little body knew no better and tried to protect itself, to move away from the flames. Tried. A strong hand, hard and implacable rested on his neck and the more he struggled, the closer it bent his face to the flames.

"Pain is a tool. You must learn to use it."

He heard the ruthlessness in his teacher's voice. If he had listened closer, he might have heard the sadness. He didn't.

Neither did he scream again. He just watched the flames fall from his mouth.

''

_Now_

When the smoke finally cleared, all that remained of her former prison was a flame-polished skeleton of durasteel … and ashes. From beneath the hulking frame, she could see into the cargo hold as clearly as she might have seen through the ribs of a skinned beast. Or through the bars of a cage. Or a tomb.

The blackened skull grinned at her.

Even though the heat from the twin scorns had scorched her skin brown, Padmé wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.

_"It was in self-defence." _

The nightmare had been bad. Awakening to see that scarred face hovering over hers and speaking her dreams had been worse. Padmé had screamed, sending him fleeing to the other side of the fire, before she had come to her senses.

Shame filled her face.

"I'm sorry," she said weakly to the black shape. "You startled me."

She saw his head bob up and down in the hood but he didn't answer. She stood up. When he saw her coming towards him, he moved further from her, closer to the fire. Her heart caught and she stood still.

"Hey," she said softly, stretching her hand towards him. He tensed, still but poised to flee at the slightest provocation. In the light of the fire, she could see his eyes glinting in his scarred face. He shifted the hood and all she could see was his eyes.

Such strange eyes.

"Please, don't run from me," she said quietly. She started walking again, moving slowly, her fingers still beckoning to him.

His eyes were at once the colour of the sky and sand, filled with both childlike wonder and bitter age. They were haunted and they stared at her with fear.

The very air around him was trembling.

"I won't hurt you," she promised. Slowly, very slowly, she stepped into his space. For a fraction of a second, her fingers touched the outer edges of his hood. Then she blinked and he had gone.

He always ran from her. Nothing she could say or do was ever enough to make him stay.

Grim determination filled Padmé's face and she turned away from Jango Fett's remains. She would do her penance when the time came. Now was the time for the living, not the dead. And unless her strange companion was a little bit of both, there was only one way he could have had access to her dreams.

She started climbing the hulk of mated vessels, making her way towards the smaller craft, and hoping that what it housed was alive.

_**tbc**_


	13. Fire on Water

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**13, Fire on Water**

_Seven Days Ago_

Three Jedi and one Guardian journeyed from the Imperial Centre to the hidden Jedi Temple on Yavin. With them they carried a Sith Lord, who had been specially invited by the Grandmaster.

On their arrival at the Temple, they were given the puzzling news that the Grandmaster had left moments before they broke atmosphere. Later they would realize that he had avoided them deliberately. At the moment this was only puzzling - and vexing. He left no instruction as to how the Sith prisoner was to be treated. And the presence of a Sith in the hidden Jedi Temple was a cause of alarm amongst the usual inhabitants.

"Care to explain this?" Aurra Sing demanded with quiet anger when she confronted Obi-Wan in the Healing Ward.

He squinted through his bandages. "It's good to see you too, Aurra."

She shrugged off ten days of captivity and torture for more important matters. "The children are frightened."

"There's no need for them to be," Obi-Wan said, running a stiff hand through the little hair on his head that was not covered in a bandage. Grimacing painfully, he pointed to a cot down the aisle where Vader lay unconscious under a dangerous influence of sedatives and chlorian-suppressants. "He won't be harming anyone. He won't even be speaking to anyone. The Grandmaster will decide what to do with him when the time comes."

''

_Six Days Ago_

A limping Padmé paid her respects to Jedi Kenobi.

"I suggest you slice of his head. It's a cheaper murder than a month's supply of medicine!" Padmé barked in a rare display of temper.

"You want us to keep him conscious!" Obi-Wan yelped. His eyes peered with fear from his bandaged face. Clearly the idea had never entered his head.

"Either that or have him die from that poison you're feeding him."

"It won't come to that. The Grandmaster will be back soon."

"We don't know that. We do know that that kind of prolonged dosage is fatal for most hyper-chlorians. There are other ways of restraining him."

"In theory."

Obi-Wan had hedged and hawed until Padmé snapped.

"If he was so important to you that you'd willingly sacrifice me to get him, then you bloody well better keep him alive!"

As on Coruscant, the Guardian had her way.

''

Vader looked a great deal better than Obi-Wan, Xanatos or Asajj. The tears and breaks in his muscles and bones had healed and only faint scars remained. In the thrall of the drugs, he looked like if he was sleeping peacefully.

Padmé stared at him pensively as the hypodermic filled with the rich, red blood.

His hair was pale, radiation-bleached and fell over his forehead. She brushed it back, and left her hand on his forehead, almost as if she was soothing him. His face was even paler. The baby fat was there, faintly in his cheeks and under the fading scars, he looked almost cherubic. Beneath those closed lids, his eyes were a vibrant vivid blue. Padmé remembered them from when she had opened her eyes on Coruscant and looked up at the face of her rescuer.

After that there had been the battle of coloured swords, then the respite, then the moment when Padmé had been so close to Vader she thought he would kiss her.

Then his eyes had been the colour of fire.

Padmé's own eyes darkened as she walked away from the prisoner.

After that, there had been dreams.

''

The dreams did not count. Dreams… nightmares… whatever they were. Padmé didn't really know this boy whose moniker was Vader.

So once again, she studied his history in the official and unofficial records, and learnt. She went back to the ancient texts in the Guardian's office and made the necessary potions. She tried to understand.

She needed to understand.

Because Anakin Skywalker had his mother's eyes.

''

_Now_

The tiny hairs on Padmé's body stood when the force fields rose behind her back. Yet the violent power of the shields were nothing compared to the raw potential emanating from the boy that stood at the far end of the cell.

It was one thing to feel sorry for a teenage boy who had received a beating after rescuing her, and who looked deceptively innocent when he was unconscious. It was another thing to be trapped in a cage with a trained Sith Lord, who had starred in her dreams for the past seven days in the role of an unstable and powerful jailer.

Padmé had always prided herself on her courage but really, wasn't self-preservation instinctive in every living thing? There was nothing particularly odd about the sudden instinct to run screaming from this place.

Rather than take that very sensible, valid option, she decided to step further into the cage.

"Hello," she said politely. Matol Jankerrie always said that good manners could get you far.

He was staring so hard at her, she actually wondered if there was something on her face. His eyes, already quite large, seemed to fill up the top of his face.

They were blue.

Then they flitted away from her and stared fixedly at the window.

Not in the least rebuffed by this blatant rudeness, she continued. "We've never been formally introduced. My name is Padmé Naberrie."

His head bobbed as if he was about to say something. Instead, he moved suddenly.

Padmé tensed, her heart leaping into her throat. But all he did was walk closer to the high window and stand in its light.

The rays hit him slantwise, turning his skin from flushed to burnished gold. Around his face, his hair was a fiery halo.

''

Vader's fists were clenched so hard that his nails bit into his hands and drew blood. He felt like if he would fly apart any moment: he was reining in emotions like a human reining in beasts. Wild, man-eating beasts.

Every word Padmé Naberrie spoke - ito him! She was speaking to him/i - made the beasts tear inside him until he was sure he could feel the blood running down his stripped bones.

'_I will not survive this.' _

_Pain is your strength. _

She was coming _closer_. Vader glanced at her, frightened. Her hair pulled back from her head, showing the clear skin, dark brown eyes that haunted him when he was awake, when he was asleep, when he was standing in the same room with her…

"You don't have to be afraid of me."

Tears sprang in his eyes and he looked away.

"I promise you, I won't hurt you."

"You're poisoning me." He didn't even know he was going to speak until he did. He had no idea the thought was even in his mind until he voiced it. "You're already hurting me."

Padmé stopped in her tracks. _Good. _

"It's not supposed to hurt," she said at last. Her voice was still as gentle but now there was definite note of alarm.

'_I put it there. She's alarmed because she thinks she's hurting me!' _

_Good. Use it. _

"Well it is," he lied

"I'll do something about it, I promise," she said firmly, and shame filled his heart.

_Weak. _

For a moment there was silence. Vader felt the beasts relax in his ribs and he risked a glance at Padmé. She was close enough to him that the a bit of light fell across her, looking like a bright sword slashing through her. Her head was tilted to one side, and she was biting her lower lip, her gaze on him one of curiosity.

The beasts had flared to life. His eyes watched the movement of her teeth on her lip with a kind of growing horror. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to run from her or pull her up against him.

At once, she covered her mouth with her hand. The blood that rushed into her face seemed to drain his own. He actually felt his head spin.

"I'm sorry," Padmé said from behind her hand and he realized with a clap of fear just how much he was betraying himself to her.

_Weak and foolish._

Something in his face must have alarmed her. She flinched, her body starting as if she wanted to back away.

She did not.

''

_Seven days ago…_

Life was a strong heart beating against Padmé's cheek.

She was already dead and obviously in Hell. There was no other explanation for this heat. For the smoke that thickened the air in her lungs. It amused the half-dead Padmé - after everything, she had been fighting on the wrong side.

Then…

Warm, roughness enveloping her. A sense of desperation, of hungry, persistent need. It ached her, scorched her in away that was different but just as devastating as the flames. She would have rolled away from it if she had had the power. Instead, she let herself be rescued from Hell.

The ground was cold after his warmth. Sheer animal instinct made her turn protesting back to him but she was too weak. Instead she moaned, afraid he would leave her.

He did not.

His fingers were soft against her cheeks, brushing the damp hair from her forehead, cleaning the blood and grime from her face. She opened her eyes as he pressed his red-stained fingers to his lips and looked at her.

His eyes were deep pools ringed with dancing flames.

_tbc_


	14. Inferno IV

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

**

**14, Inferno IV**

_Seven Days Ago_

There was probably no way to get hold of water. And Padmé was too weak with her efforts and exhaustion to try. So when his wiry frame had shaken with violent coughs, she had just watched with bated breath, wondering if it was possible for someone to cough out his lungs. Finally, they stopped and he laid back on the sand, curling towards her.

He had very blue eyes. In that poor, scarred face, they seemed to mock with their beauty.

"Why?"

She wasn't sure if he actually spoke but the question seemed to eat into her very skin like the acid tears she did not even know she had shed.

Then the heat and exhaustion conquered her again and she passed out.

When she woke, he was gone and the second sun had started its descent. She felt the fast chilling of the desert like ice in her bones, behind her eyes… Her mouth was filled with his ashes. Padmé lay on her back, watching the distant smoke from the ships and wondered if she wasn't having a strange nightmare about Hell.

Or if she was in Hell.

''

The fire ran all the way into her throat.

It was a sort of fever, she realized later. Much later. Time was a myth. Birth and death were one as she lived through this cycle of hot and cold forever. A cog in the wheel of eternity, dying and being borne again and again until she shattered into so many pieces there was nothing left.

_Little bones. Pieces of bones. A grotesque jigsaw puzzle. _

'_You eat them, you know.'_

The clear ivory powder of a shattered skull congealing together to hover over her own. A death mask. Her own.

Water pressed against her lips and she drank it blindly, feeling the ice and fire burn their way down her throat.

''

_Two Days Ago _

The day the fever broke, Padmé woke in the shade of the two ships, wrapped in an unfamiliar cloak, a bottle of water and a protein bar by her side. The events of the past few days seemed to wash over her in a daze. It took her a moment to remember her own name.

She shifted her head a little, heard the soft slide of sand beneath it and saw her nurse, her savour, her protector. He slept, sitting up, his face in profile. In twilight, she could barely see the scars in the sharp line of his silhouette.

Painfully, she struggled towards him, dragging herself up so that she hovered close to him. She stretched out a hand to his face, holding her breath so that he didn't wake, and found them. She traced the burn scars with her fingers. She held his face with both her hands and kissed it.

"Thank you."

She found his burnt black glove of a hand and kissed it as well. Then she lay back down, tucked into his side and fell asleep.

Blood in her hands. Wet, slippery warm.

'You drink them, you know…' 

The second time Padmé woke up, it was a moonless night. The fire showed her nothing except the faint ring of animals, hovering outside the ring of light.

Then she looked up into the face of a monster and the sound of her screams almost deafened her.

In the distance, the wild animals howled back.

''

He always ran from her. Nothing she could say or do was ever enough to make him stay.

''

_tbc_


	15. Inferno V, Desert Fusion

**Kaleidoscope**

* * *

**15, Inferno V/Desert Fusion**

One day, four-year-old Padmé Naberrie discovered an enourmous perennial in the Jankerrie compound. It stood metres above the top of the Jankerrie manor, and was too alarming a height for even Sola to scale.

That tree had fast become Padmé's dear friend, an escape from unwanted company, the one place that was truly hers where she could be alone with her thoughts and silence.

There was something about the heights… the loneliness, the clarity…

''

Asshe pulled herself up the side of Fett's slave ship and watched the ground all but vanish beneath her, Padmé felt she could understand her companion's motivations.

''

The explosion that had destroyed the slave ship, had not quite consumed the smaller fighter craft that was melded into its side. After two days of careful study, Padmé thought she could almost reconstruct the sequence of events that had brought them down:

Somewhere above the desert's thin stratosphere, the fighter had nose-dived into the slave ship, piercing through the hull like a missile. The two had fallen spinning into the world, catching fire as they broke atmosphere. Sometime during that nightmarish re-entry, Fett's ship had exploded from the damage caused by the impact of the fighter, and parts had gone flying across the planet. If there were any living creatures on this desert world, the damage caused could be extensive.

The ship bore the impact of the crash, smashing into the sands with its side in a long slide before coming to a halt. A long trail of black charring extended from where the ship to the far distance. Both vessels berthed in a death lock: the slave ship lying on its side; half of the fighter firmly welded in, and protuding from the topside of the larger ship like a narrow jutting rock.

Somewhere in this surreal union, her strange companion had made his home.

The top of the cockpit had fused into the slave ship. No entry point from there. But Padmé had spotted a gash in the side of the ship, a neat little circular affair that she could easily slip through. It was a few metres from where she stood at the edge of the slave ship's dorsal fin. Beneath where she was and where she was going to, there was a drop of fifty metres, give or take ten. Padmé could give an accurate estimation because that was the distance her stomach had fallen when she looked down the distance of empty space from where she stood to the desert sand below. Even for a natural climber like herself, it was daunting.

Suddenly Matol Jankerrie's long-ago counsel about respecting people's privacy and uninvited guests sounded particularly sound.

Swallowing hard, Padmé leaned as far from the ledge as she dared, pressing her body against the wall of the wreckage, and felt for handholds. The body of the ship was made of slick durasteel, and even the crumpled bits of hull were slippery beneath her suddenly sweaty fingers.

The sand below shimmered so brightly under the heat of the double suns that she realized that dark wild looking thing hovering beneath here was her reflection - and not her shadow.

''

The hole was as neat as a carving. Padmé ran her fingers along the edge, feeling the smoothness. Then she climbed in.

For a second, she was just relieved to get away from all that heat. Then her eyes adjusted to the scant light and she realized that she was not the only one in the cramped cockpit.

He was breathing so hard she thought he was having a seizure. She would have moved forward to help him, would have said something… if only she wasn't paralyzed where she stood.

Padmé had thought he looked horrendous before. But now the skin had baked and healed, and patches of crispy flesh hung from the side of his face. She tried; she tried so hard to keep the horror from her face…

He caught the gaze on her face and he turned his back to her. "Don't look at me!" He raged.

Instinctively she reached for him. "Wait. I-"

He screamed, spinning out of her reach. His thin body flailed wildly in the small space, trying to find something to hide himself in, trying to find a way out. But she was at the whole entrance and exit and he was trapped. He let out a low, keening cry that seemed to pierce her very lungs and almost made her leave, if only to prevent him from hurting himself.

Instead, she remained where she was, all but rooted to the spot where she stood. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest.

The cry tapered to sobs. He huddled into the corner, curling in on himself as if he could hide from her.

Slowly, she raised both hands, letting him see that she was completely harmless. "Please," She tried the word and it choked in her throat. She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes. "Please, don't be afraid of me."

She could almost hear him shudder. But he didn't run. There was no where for him to run to.

Padmé took a step forward. Her body was no longer blocking the light. It fell cruelly across his the melted clumps of hair on his head and he flinched. She paused, feeling her own breath coming heavy in her throat.

"Please."

Moments passed and when all he did was sob harder, she took another step closer.

She might as well have been approaching a wild animal, some wounded creature that needed care but would fight back at anything that wanted to take advantage of its vulnerability.

Then she was near enough that when she knelt beside him, her body blocked his from the light. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Every bone in his body seemed to still.

"I promise you, I won't hurt you."

The seconds drew out.

Then he turned and fell into her arms. As she held him firmly against her heart, the tears sprang in Padmé's eyes.

''

"We've never been formally introduced."

_tbc_


	16. The Haunting II

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

16, The Haunting II **

It took a long time for everyone to settle down in the Assembly hall. The seating arrangement was not particularly complicated – concentric circles of no particular order. It was the greetings and reunions that took so long. There were murmurs of conversation as the newcomers from outside Yavin exchanged greetings and news with the ones that resided there. A young group of apprentices, who had been delivered by Master Ti from the Guardian's cottage in Alderaan, were extremely excited at the gathering – their first ever. Another group, Jedi Obi-Wan's age, was arguing the fine points of telekinesis.

According to the old records, the large Assembly hall had been built to serve as meeting chamber for the twelve members of the Jedi Council. Twelve Masters who were chosen for demonstrated exceptional wisdom, skill and knowledge of the Force. Chosen to decide upon the best courses for the lives of hundreds of Jedi and the millions of people in the Republic the Jedi served.

As Obi-Wan sat patiently on the Assembly floor and watched his Jedi brethren, he still could not decide which he disbelieved more: that there had been a time when the number of Jedi in the galaxy could be counted in hundreds; or that the path of the entire body of the Order had once been dictated, not by a single, glorious unified confluence, but by the will of twelve staid academicians.

For despite the melancholy reason for this meeting, Obi-Wan's blood tingled. His heart soared and he could feel his excitement reflected in the faces of the Jedi around him – from the chubby faces of the young apprentices seated next to their Masters to the lined faces of those Masters even older than himself. His brethren filled the Hall in droves, converging to this place from every corner of the Temple, and from every corner of the known galaxy. It was as if the Light Side was singing with happiness from the sheer glory, if not the number, of Its children gathered at this time, in this place, and letting Its power run true and unfettered through their veins.

At times like this, more than ever, Obi-Wan realized he could never have been anything but a Jedi.

Finally everyone did take a cross-legged seat on the floor. Silence quickly spread through the Assembly as all eyes turned to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Feeling self-conscious, he got to his feet.

"Brethren," he began. Hestarted speakingabout the late Grandmaster; and as he looked into the crowd of faces, he saw blood on the tall citadels of Coruscant.

''

_It was twilight in the Imperial Centre. The setting star of Coruscant cast its red gaze on the tall spires and towers of the capital. In the highest spire of the Imperial Palace, two shadows looked down from a narrow window to the crimson world below. _

"_The signs are undeniable," said the taller shadow. It spoke with a frank brogue, bordering at rudeness. _

_The other shadow wavered as it shrugged. A little reflected glow caught the motion, and the features of an elderly, gentle face showed briefly on the shadow. Then it morphed back into darkness. _

"_So it would seem," it replied in a placid, cultured voice. _

"_He is the One, you must see that." _

"_I see many things, further things than you do," said the shorter being with just the faintest bit of steel in the voice. _

_The taller one tensed. "So he is to be trained then?" Resignation thickened his voice. _

"_Even better, friend. You will train him. And when the time is right, he will take his place by my side._

"_I have foreseen it." _

_The dismissal was obvious. The taller shadow bowed stiffly and started walking away. _

"_Oh, and one more thing?"The othersaid, almostas an afterthought. _

_Pause. "Yes?" _

"_Kill the spare." _

_It went back to his contemplation of dusk, smiling happily to itself asit watched the slow leach of blood down the citadels of the city. _

_Obi-Wan paused longer than he needed to, studying the Sith Sidious studying the sunset. _

''

"Jedi Kenobi…?"

The awakening was as gradual as surfacing from a deep pool of bloody water. For a moment, all he saw was the red of the Dark Side's greed reflecting on the two faces that peered into his own.

"Obi-Wan… are you alright?"

Then he blinked and the false image was gone.

He was lying on a cot, in the Healing Centre; Aurra and Bruck were staring down at him in concern.

Obi-Wan sat up abruptly; the sudden motion made the other Jedi pull back in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked urgently. The shadows in the room told him that hours had passed since he last had full consciousness.

The other two exchanged looks.

"What?" Obi-Wan snapped, with uncharacteristic temper.

"You fainted," Bruck said slowly. He looked as if he couldn't believe his own words.

"Fainted?" Obi-Wan sputtered. _Jedi don't faint_.

"We think you were having a nig- a vision," Aurra said even more uncertainly. "You said things."

"What things?" Obi-Wan asked automatically, even as he tried desperately to recall the scattered images.

The blood-stained Capital.

_The spare. _

Obi-Wan sprang to his feet, only to grab the pillar by the cot as dizziness shook him.

"You need to lie down," Aurra said sternly.

"In a moment," he gasped. "I need to speak to the Gra-"

The loss smote him like a physical blow. He saw his pain reflected in the others' faces and he grabbed the pillar hard, tried to control himself.

_What will happen to us now? _He thought despairingly. _Who will guide us? _

"Obi-Wan," Aurra said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes to catch his breath, his balance, and the Sith Emperor's face filled his vision. Obi-Wan's eyes flew open at once.

Who would have thought Evil could be so serene?

"Obi-Wan, you should know…"

"I need to speak to Padmé Naberrie." The words fell out of his mouth almost before the realization entered his mind. "Now," he insisted to Aurra and Bruck's puzzled look.

Without waiting for their puzzled looks to change, he strode out of the Centre, his walk increasing in steadiness as the urgency filled his heart.

The other two fell into step beside him, supporting him so easily, he almost did not realize it until he looked and saw their hands on his shoulders.

"Whatever you say," Bruck said with a wry smile. "Grandmaster."

Obi-Wan halted abruptly.

The Assembly had been concluded.

Then he continued walking, leading way for the rest of the Jedi to follow. They did.

**_tbc_**


	17. Demon In A Cage II

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

17, Demon In A Cage II **

A Sith, like any other predator, could smell fear in its prey. It was a sign that it was time to close in for the kill.

It was a good thing then that Padmé was not afraid. Maybe she had been for a moment, when those shard-like eyes had darkened at her as if their owner wanted to devour her. When the look on his face had turned so… unholy. But she hadn't backed down. She had stood her ground and borne his scrutiny and now, he was back to his forced contemplation of the window.

He stood in the light, his hands folded into fists at his side, his wiry body looking so brittle that she almost felt her voice could shatter him into little golden shards on the floor. The mothballs danced about him, and perched on the spun-gold strands of his hair. His hair badly needed cutting. _He_ needed cutting. He needed something to prune away those rough edges, those tense planes of taut restlessness.

A long time had passed since he had been just a kicking lump of life under her hand.

"Why are you here?" He asked, his voice breaking a little as if he was struggling with the words. Then he blushed, ducking his head.

He was very young.

"I…"

_…needed to ask you about my dreams. Ask you to kindly get out and stay out of my mind. And while you're doing that, also keep your hands from my feet, my wrists, my mouth, my heart…_

"… wanted to thank you for saving my life."

He looked up at her then, his eyes all but blazing in his head. Almost trapping in her in that hypnotic steadiness.

Almost.

"Although as I understand it, you put me in danger in the first place."

It was as if she had thrown a light switch. The glow in his eyes died and his face fell. He looked away, the planes of his face becoming progressively sulkier.

"You're always in danger," he said harshly, still not looking at her. "Your alliance with the Jedi has made you an enemy of the Empire."

"Is that why you sent a bounty hunter after me? To have me arrested?"

He hesitated. "No harm would have come to you."

"Wouldn't it?" Padmé asked, genuinely wondering. She looked down at the ankle she still favored, the dark skin showing beneath the robes that reached her feet. She looked up and caught his gaze, which also was returning from her foot.

"I have such strange dreams, Lord Vader," she said, looking him straight in the eye.

He blushed painfully but he didn't look away. "What kind of dreams?"

"I think you know."

His head jerked roughly. For a moment, she thought he would not answer. Then he said at last. "Despite what Kenobi must have told you, I don't cause them."

Was he telling the truth? It was hard to tell. They said that the Dark-siders were trained to deceive almost since they were born. That the Emperor himself was the Master of Manipulation. And this Vader was his heir…

"I don't have any reason to lie to you."

She was shaken away from her thoughts to see his eyes looking at her sadly. A little frisson of alarm shook her. _Did he read my mind…? How did he…? He shouldn't be able to…_

"I'm not reading your mind," he said quickly. "Your face… can be very expressive."

"It isn't usually," Padmé said, still suspicious. She had trained herself when she was very young not to let anything betray her emotions.

"It's not. I… I'm used to them now. Your expressions." He seemed to hold his breath, as if he was weighing his words. Then he let it out in a sigh. "From my dreams." His lips twisted. An almost smile. "We spend a lot of time together, in my dreams. I'm used to you."

Padmé was not sure what startled her the most: her suspicions confirmed, the fact that he owned up to that much... or that smile.

Bright. Strong. Blindingly white. It transformed his face completely; took away the years of hardening; showed the child that he had never been.

"What kind of dreams, Lord Vader?" She asked, genuinely curious. Without even knowing it, she had stepped closer to that smile.

He gave her one of his quick glances, looked down at his feet. "They're only dreams."

She paused, waiting, eager despite herself.

The blood rose in his cheeks. "You… you crashed into Tatooine with Fett's ship and… and I was there, too."

"Tatooine. So that's what it's called."

"I—I've been there, before." His voice broke again. He kept his gaze steady on the floor. "When I was younger. Training." The memory of pain was stark in his voice. She wondered if he knew it was there.

"What happened on Tatooine?"

"I nearly died. You brought me back. And then, we --- we remained there."

"And lived happily ever after?"

He blushed even harder. She could see the dark tinge on his cheeks. She wished she could see all of his face. "There was a fire… when the ships crashed. I was burnt. Very badly. You thought I was a monster." His voice became accusing.

It was Padmé's turn to blush. "I had a fever," she said defensively. "And you… you startled me."

His head came up. His eyes literally burnt in his face, already aglow now that he had let the light touch him. The twisted hope and longing in his expression all but leapt at her. She felt her heart twist with painful empathy. "You dreamt it, too?"

"I…" She was trapped in that gaze. She couldn't look away, much less make out words. It was as if his eyes had burnt out everything from her mind, her self. They all but branded. Her heart was in so many tangled knots that it hurt.

When he came closer, she didn't back away.

"In my dream, you cried over my scars. Did you… cry for me in yours?"

His voice was so near her, it seemed to come from right inside her mind, from everywhere.

She couldn't look away from those eyes.

She nodded.

"If someone hurt me here… will you… cry for me?" He whispered, his face very near her own. Her lungs were breathing in his breath, her heart… Her heart hurt… She felt dizzy…

He caught her before she fell.

"No, I promised." She heard him whisper the words as the darkness fell, and she understood them somehow.

''

There were many ways to hunt. Sometimes the easiest was to set a trap.

**''**


	18. Devoveo

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

18, Devoveo**

Obi-Wan didn't shake the sense into Asajj, but he came close to it.

"You let her in!"

Asajj's face tightened with hurt, but she replied with respectful stiffness. "There were no orders forbidding her-"

He didn't wait for her to finish. The Force shields were barely lowered when he burst into the cell, Bruck and Aurra hot on his heels, instinctively pulling out their sabres and preparing for the worst.

The five Jedi - Asajj and her fellow sentry included - came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the cell.

Obi-Wan had rushed in so furiously, searching for the strange void in the Force that Vader now caused, that he had not actually 'looked' for the Sith with his eyes.

Vader knelt on the floor by his cot, bent over something that lay on it. The strange stillness of his body told Obi-Wan that the Sith was either unconscious or dead.

A cautious step closer, and with a leap of alarm, Obi-Wan realized that the 'something' lying on Vader's cot was Padmé's body, curled into a small comma, one long arm spread across her stomach. One loose sleeve had rolled back, revealing a pale arm with thin veins splattering crimson beneath her skin.

Her body was turned towards Vader, whose arms were spread as if to embrace her length. His head lolled to one side. The steady rise and fall of his chest showed that he was fast asleep.

For a long moment, the Grandmaster just watched them, frozen where he stood.

A few hours later, he completed all the arrangements; Obi-Wan paid a visit to the Guardian's office.

Padmé sat by the window, a small tome open in her lap and her eyes staring straight ahead.

"Your reflexes are slow today," he commented with deceptive casualness when he had stepped right up to her without so much as a stir from her.

She started and the tome fell to the floor.

"Sorry... again," he said insincerely, bending down to pick it up. He glanced at the cover. "Healer Journals. Interesting reading..."

"They were - are - Barriss's," Padmé said quietly. "I think she's still alive, Obi-Wan. I've seen her ... in one of my dreams."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You no longer believe they are just dreams, then."

A little colour came to Padmé's cheeks and she looked down. "You have my permission to say 'I told you so'," she quipped. There was no humour in her voice.

Neither did Obi-Wan crack a smile. His gaze was still thoughtful; his thoughts still furious and worse, frightened. "Are you all right, Padmé?"

"Yes, I am!" she replied testily. "I made the trip to the med bay, didn't I? How many times do I have to say it? I fainted from the pain in my ankle... and he didn't hurt me in the least."

"No, I meant - your head? Is it okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because clearly, there's something missing in it. A screw. Perhaps a few more components. What in Force's name made you go to Vader's cell in the first place?"

She actually looked surprised at his anger. "I didn't know I was forbidden from seeing him."

"I didn't think it was necessary to forbid it. I thought you had enough sense not to do so!"

Her face froze over with hurt and Obi-Wan regretted his sharp words.

"Padmé -"

She cut him off. "My apologies, Grandmaster-" he flinched at her cold voice -"for engaging your prisoner."

"He is not-"

"But with all due respect," she continued in that sarcastic formal voice, "I will not be spoken to like an errant child. I am not one of your Jedi subjects to be ordered about."

Obi-Wan wisely swallowed his retort and turned away from the woman. He let his breath out in a frustrated whistle.

"Padmé... Darth Vader is a Sith Lord. He is dangerous. He is untrustworthy. Why can't you understand that?"

"Why do you insist on treating him like a monster?"

"Because he is?"

"You know as well as I do where he comes from - who he is. He wasn't born a Sith. He wasn't even born Darth Vader."

Obi-Wan spun on his heel, faced her. "I haven't forgotten any part of that, Padmé. My Master died. Your sister... " Her face twisted and he swallowed the rest of the sentence. "But they took Shmi Skywalker and her baby. And whatever goodness was ever in the child, it's gone now. It's lost. No one returns from being that."

"Everything is black and white to you, isn't it, Obi-Wan?" Her voice was filled with scorn.

_The Emperor's face... serene in its utter malevolence. _

_The burning light of the Grandmaster's eyes... the fire that had consumed him in the end..._

"That. Is. Unfair."

"Is it? When I was in that cell unconscious, he could have walked away with me, done anything to me. He did not. Is that the action of an irredeemable person?"

Obi-Wan actually laughed. "So a moment of rationality makes up for a lifetime of tyranny?"

"Eighteen years? That is a very short lifetime."

"It is enough. Padmé, you mistake his... fascination ... with you for affection. It is not. He doesn't know what that means. He wasn't brought up naturally. You can't give what you don't have."

"Obi-Wan..."

"I was his prisoner! He tortured me. First, for information. Then for amusement. He is not an innocent, Padmé!"

Padmé's eyes filled with contrition - and sympathy. Obi-Wan wished he could swallow back the words of self-pity.

"I -"

"- forgot," he said, harsher than he should have. "I know. I only wish I could."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then she sighed.

"Can you blame me for wanting answers? For wanting to know why the Grandmaster wanted Vader so badly or why I was the only means to get him?"

"The Grandmaster wanted Vader killed!"

Her eyes widened at his words and too late, Obi-Wan shut his mouth.

After a long moment, her gaze finally fell.

"I see," she said softly. Disappointment was thick in her voice. "A trap to assassinate the Sith apprentice. It has been attempted before. Never so elaborately, though."

"It is not that simple," Obi-Wan said stiffly.

"Tell me."

He brushed a tired hand across his brow. "I can't."

There was another silence. Reluctantly, he ended it. "It's complicated. I don't understand it myself. And you weren't supposed to know."

She gave him a sharp, narrow-eyed gaze, but she didn't say what was clearly on the tip of her tongue.

Instead, she said something worse. "So when are you going to kill him?"

He recoiled. "Jedi don't kill in cold blood. You reminded us not so long ago." The very idea sickened him.

"What are you going to do then?"

What was he going to do? He, the Grandmaster. All eyes were on him, watching, waiting, ready to follow his decisions for better or for worse. He could lead them all to salvation or plunge them into the deepest pits of the fire.

Padmé's hand reached for his. He looked into the knowing light in her eyes.

"I don't completely understand you Jedi, Obi-Wan. I don't think I ever will. But whatever you choose to do, let it - let it be your decision."

_"You need to start one day."_

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"

She squeezed his hand - he could feel the easy flow of blood, passing beneath her skin - and let it go.

"Don't you think our own sins are already enough of a burden?" She asked softly. It was almost as if she was thinking out loud. "Why take on someone else's?"

There were times when she saw with too much perspicacity. It was one of the many reasons why Obi-Wan would make sure she left Yavin quickly.

As soon as possible, before the temptation became too strong. For all of them.

He returned her squeeze and left her, feeling that piercing gaze boring through his retreating back.

He checked on Vader before retiring to his rooms. The Sith was sleeping. For the first time since arriving on Yavin, Darth Vader slept of his own free will.

Back in his rooms, Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the floor and listened to his old Grandmaster's last message again.

_"Questioning everything and everyone. Including me."_

"How can I?" The new Grandmaster whispered. "How can I lead without your guidance?"

He buried his face in his hands, the burden like a physical weight crushing down on him, taking him and those that followed him into the abyss.

_tbc_


	19. The Haunting III

**Kaleidoscope**

**

* * *

19, The Haunting III**

_14 Years Ago_

"C-c-cold..." he moaned through chattering teeth.

"You know what to do... Get up..."

"P-p-l-lease... it b-burns..."

Two swift kicks. "Stop that whining this instant. Get up!"

He closed his eyes to the pain and whimpered, a pathetic little bleat as his small body curled into a bow, trying to protect itself - to no avail. The third kick was a ball of fire exploding in his gut. He opened his mouth in outrage and pain and vomited out the flames.

The boot retreated and there was a swift and terrible silence.

With trepidation, he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw were red flames licking the heels of black boots standing on the melting snow.

The incongruity of that was nothing compared to the sight of his teacher's smile.

"Good work, Anakin."

---------

_Now _

'You missed your chance.'

Vader turned away from the ever-mocking voice of his rationality, walking keenly down the labyrinth of his mind. In this dreamscape, it had power. A leonine shadow stretching from his feet and up the narrow walls, nibbling at the knees of his lucidity.

(Somewhere in the waking world, his body lay motionless against the cot in Yavin as the Jedi took Padmé Naberrie away from him. He felt the ache of her loss with an acuteness that made him boneless as blood.)

_'So you hold unto your dream... your hope that she will join you of her own volition.'_

He tried to ignore the goading, tried to concentrate on forward motion. He needed to find a way out...

_'It will never happen.'_

Vader gritted his teeth and rounded the corner. Then he swallowed a shout.

The Emperor loomed over him - an impossibility in reality, but Vader didn't register that immediately. The old visage was livid with rage.

"Where are you, boy?" Darth Sidious bellowed. His fury was like the breath of a dragon scorching Vader and everything in his world.

"You are not real!" Vader rebuked, his fists clenched as if he could wield his own fear and fury with his bare hands.

The monster dissolved into the musty darkness.

Shaking, Vader went on.

_'Your heritage, your destiny, your sacrifices... You will throw it all away for this woman.'_

He turned right back to the corridor he started from. He was walking in circles. There was no way out, no escape, no freedom from this nightmare of an existence...

(Padmé... Padmé...)

_'You do not love her. You cannot love anything.' _

"SHUT UP!" Vader screamed.

In the silence that followed, he could feel the press of the walls closing in on him. The musky light had darkened, and the heightened senses that served him so well in the past had been neutered. He couldn't breathe...

(She was gone...)

He couldn't breathe. Madness was just around the corner.

He followed it, picking up speed as he raced down the corridors, spun round the corners, trying desperately to find an exit from this life even though he knew...

_'You will never escape it.' _

But he had. The open doors loomed wide ahead of him, and the light that poured into that dark path bathed his skin with cold lamination.

"Never escape, you said?" Vader hissed in triumph.

The voice was silent.

He stepped towards the light...

...and into a cave.

Light spilled from the high walls, from the far-away ceiling, from the floor beneath his feet. The chamber burgeoned with illumination, every colour of the spectrum visible to human eye and beyond and with a thrill of wonderment, he realized where he was.

It was the cave where the living crystals of legend grew. A place that wasn't supposed to exist except in Sith myth - and Jedi folklore. But here it was...

... and as the myths said, the centre called to him and he was drawn to it like a moth to the flame.

The Kiber rose to meet him and its perfect black beauty hovered before his eyes.

The longing that filled him was so powerful that he sank to his knees.

"No..." He gasped... thought... Words were not necessary here. Every thought, every secret, silent longing was stripped bare. "Please... No..."

_...you must... _

The ghosts had returned, and they hovered along the walls of the cave, watching, waiting...

He tried to step back and the yearning pulled on him like a chain, a leash in his heart.

_...already begun... _

...nothing can stop this...

"I didn't ask for this!"

_...someone must... _

...pay...

...the price?...

"Then let me pay it! Let me!"

The silence was the sound of a thousand drums.

He grabbed for the Kiber. It crossed his mind that if he touched it, if he could destroy it somehow...

...the he would be free.

His fingers closed around the blackness and into a fist.

The Crystal was an illusion.

The ghosts screamed as the Cave, and the dream that contained it dissolved.

Vader opened his eyes.

---------

The Sith Apprentice's old teacher - the owner of the goading voice of his rationality - stood before the window, the sunlight passing through the blue-edge leonine figure likes freely pouring water.

"Hello, Anakin," the Jinn said with the old familiar smile that was laced with approval and menace. "I see you've been forgetting your lessons."

Vader blinked and the vision was gone.

He crawled into his cot, into the space where Padmé Naberrie had lain, and he listened to the whispering in the Force until the morning came.

_TBC_


	20. The Hunting II

**Kaleidoscope

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**

**22, The Hunting II**

_Naboo_

The Jankerrie mansion stood on a hill, a haughty structure of oak-wood and duracrete.

The front door slid open and three figures slipped out. Two were clad in dark, stern robes and darker auras. The third was small, pale and scared, a little strip of light between the sandwich of dark pillars. Gently, but firmly, it was guided away by the other two.

Through the doorway there was a glimpse of an old astromech droid, a gutted mechanical toad with greasy innards spilling onto polished marble; and splashes of brighter coloured liquid caking on the walls.

The door slid closed.

Moments later, the Imperial speeder lifted off from its berth. Silent and graceful, the bird of prey glided away from the remains of its carcass.

The Jankerrie mausoleum stood on a hill, a haughty structure of oak-wood and duracrete.

_TBC_


	21. Broken Bonds

**Kaleidoscope

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**

**20, Broken Bonds**

_Imperial Centre (Coruscant)_

The summons was unexpected. The Sith had last 'convened' a little over a week ago when the Jedi had made their botched escape attempt from the Palace. Recovering Kenobi's bones had not spared Vader his Master's wrath. The memory of the lacerations in his chest caused a little finger of rage to run down the younger Sith's spine.

He kept his eyes lowered as the holo-projector came to life and the pale visage of Sidious blossomed over Vader's head.

It would not do to show his Master so much hatred.

"Master," Vader said reverently.

"I hear you have possessed yourself a Guardian."

He had expected it, anticipated it with dread the moment he had received the summons. But still, at the sound of Padmé's title spoken in that sibilant hiss, it was with an effort that Vader kept his sword-hand unclenched. "Your spies serve you well, my Lord."

"It always upsets me when I have to rely on them to know your affairs, Vader."

_Perhaps I assumed my private dealings would be as nauseating to you as mine are to you?_

The searing caress of Sidious's hand on the inside of Vader's skull was a sharp reminder to the younger Sith that his thoughts were not his own.

He bore it. He had felt worse. When it was over, he pushed the white pain deep into his chest.

However, he could not block his ears from the cackling laughter that filled them across a hundred light-years of space.

"Amusing," Sidious decided, when his laughter subsided. "Darth Vader. Sith Lord. The Emperor's Fist. The Emperor's Heir. Killer of Jedi and Jedi-Keeper. In love with Padmé Naberrie, the grandchild of a woman he murdered."

Every single nebulous, confused, desperate thought that had filled Vader's mind from the moment he had first laid eyes on Padmé Naberrie's image seemed to crystallize into a single, dangerous missile … and explode.

For a moment, his own rage blinded him. The sight of Palpatine's face, paler than usual in its fury, almost did not register.

Nor did it register that he was on his feet. All that registered was the little ball of protective wrath that rolled in the pit of his stomach. He wrenched it from within himself, held it ready as a weapon…

"You. Do. Not. Speak. Of. Her."

… and flung it with all his might at his Master.

The holo-projector flickered and died. Sidious's visage vanished.

Silence.

White lightening poured into Vader's mind and he keeled, almost falling to his knees.

The Emperor's face was branding into his skull.

"You are mine! Your loyalty is to me!"

"No!" Vader shouted back, holding his skull with both hands before it split. "Not any more!"

"You fool!" Sidious roared in his mind. "Do you know what I could do to your little toy?" And he let Vader see exactly what, and how.

It was an action of pure instinct. Vader caught the fire that was being branded into his soul, let it smoulder in his fist until it was a molten lance in his hand, then he hurled it back with all its might at its sender.

Darkness and silence descended like a lamp being switched off. Not even the echo of the Emperor's voice remained.

Only then did Vader fall to his knees. His body heaved venom pouring out of his mouth until he was empty.

'''''''''

He had defied his Master before, but not like this.

Never like this.

Somewhere across the galaxy, the Emperor was in a great deal of pain. It would be a while before he would summon his apprentice for a 'discussion'.

The satisfaction of the one realization counter-balanced the trepidation of the other.

Whether he was ready or not, Vader had thrown down the gauntlet.

'''''''''

Apart from Darth Vader, of course, and the droid Threepio, only two other members of the Imperial Palace had access to Padmé Naberrie. The first was the Jedi apprentice. The second was…

Darra Thel-Tanis's guilt was plain on her face when she obeyed Vader's summons to the palace gardens.

He took his time, watching the dark eels swirling at the base of the moss-caked fountain, while she waited, shivering beside him. The tall perennials of the garden, with their hanging vines, and carnivorous appetites seemed to be watching her from their bulbous barks.

Finally he looked at her.

"Why?" He asked quietly, almost gently.

Darra stared at him stonily, shields rising.

"Answer me!" Vader roared, his fist smashing against the ancient duracrete. The eels shivered. The hanging tendrils of the wild perennials trembled and hissed.

Darra's face crumpled. "Because she's a Jedi keeper! Because she's a traitor and you've brought her into our home!"

His eyes narrowed into slits. "You forget your place, _Hand_."

"Do _I_?" Darra retorted, her eyes flashing with fear and that certain kind of boldness that she had never lacked in his presence. "You've changed since she came. She's changed you… broken you in a way."

Vader spun from them, his cloak swirling and his fist clenched tightly on the hilt of his lightsaber.

"You speak of what you don't know."

"No, I don't," she said softly. "I know _you_…" She didn't speak his old name, but he could hear her say it in her mind. "I know all about your talents, and your ambition. You could never have remained a Hand for long, we all knew that… even Ferus."

Despite himself, Vader snorted.

Emboldened, Darra went on. "You don't want to give up all that for this wo…."

She choked the last word as Vader turned on her, his mental fist closing around her neck.

"You presume too much on our long acquaintance, Hand. You will do well to keep a civil tongue in your head."

Her hands clutched at her throat helplessly, her eyes bugging as she struggled for breath. Vader's grip tightened and he saw the acknowledgement of her fate enter her eyes.

Her larynx was broken. She tried to speak with her mind:

_'Anakin…please!'_

Silence. The garden was silent. Even the slow curl of the vines, as they raised themselves over her was silent… Waiting…

Monsters needed nourishment.

Even Padmé Naberrie understood that.

_"That's not all I am!"_

With a roar, he flecked his wrist. Darra fell, hard against the damp soil, choking for air, choking against the sobs…

With hisses of indignation, the vines unfurled. Resentment, thick and poisonous, oozed from the very air.

"My… L…lord," Darra began, crawling to her knees.

"Silence!" Vader snarled. Without waiting for her to obey, he turned on his heel and left her there.

He still carried Padmé Naberrie's holo beneath his tunic. He imagined her image had branded itself into his skin.

_TBC_


	22. Broken Bonds II

**Kaleidoscope

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_**author's note:** A big thank you to **Padakin** for editing this!_

**21, Broken Bonds II**

_Imperial Centre (Coruscant)_

"Where are you taking me?" Padmé whispered. There was tremor in her voice that might have been caused by their unsteady ascent up the steps, but Darth Vader knew better: She was frightened. 

He smiled with mirthless satisfaction. She had every right to be. The first and only time – till now – he had taken her out of his chambers, it was to witness the execution of the Jedi trio that tried to rescue her and failed so spectacularly.

At his silence, her body tensed in his arms. Vader tightened his grip. He won't put it past Padmé to hurl herself down the steps just to spite him.

But all she did was hold herself away him, trying to keep as little bodily contact with him as was possible.

She needn't have bothered. The touch of her skin was distraction enough. The feel of her in his arms, warm and smooth and taut like the bow of an archer… her head close to his chest, the cloud of silky hair brushing against his chin… well, it was a small miracle that he kept his footing on that winding stairwell and did not send both of them hurtling down to the abyss.

The stairwell became narrower and narrower with each turn, until finally she was forced to curl herself completely in his arms. They reached the last bend, her cheek pressed against his chest as she shied from the wall, and he stumbled. Her hand, which had folded itself into his tunic and was causing all sorts of horrible palpitations in his heart, curved into a claw and tightened so painfully that she clutched at his skin… clutching his heart.

Crushing it.

"Don't drop me!" she cried, panicked.

Vader pressed his free hand flat against the wall, supporting his precious burden with one arm, and found his balance. For a moment he just breathed. He didn't speak until the tension left _her_ and that painful grip loosened.

"I thought you'd rather die than remain with me," he finally said, his voice catching.

He felt the ire rise in her, all but felt the itch in her hand as she stopped herself from slapping him. Instead she glared at him with scornful anger.

The physical assault would have been kinder.

They finished the journey in silence. The small door at the top of the stairs proved tricky to open. The combination had been changed since his last visit, and it took him more iterations than usual to find the right one. His concentration was in jagged pieces.

The sprite had slipped into every nook and cranny of his mind… his intelligence… his will…

He stepped into the room.

The moment Padmé realized they were in a wide open space, she struggled to get out of his arms. He held her even more tightly.

"I can walk. Let me go."

"Don't worry, my lady." His promise was a snarl. "Your weight is no burden at all."

She gave him a look that said _'I would gladly let you break your back if I thought that was possible'_ but knew better than to argue with him when he spoke like that.

In the end, they had reached an understanding of sorts.

Then the room itself distracted her. Padmé's eyes widened, the dark irises rounding like beautiful perfect pools.

"What is this place?" she asked.

He followed her gaze, turning her around so she could see as much of the Emperor's private observation point as possible. It was spare space, barely a room: there were no furnishings. The only break to the pattern of stale grey were three columns that held up the high walls of the room. They were elaborately patterned with intricate frescos, and incongruous against the plain duracrete which was not even finished or marbled as Vader's own chambers.

Feeling her curiosity, he carried her close to one of the columns. Her pale finger traced a dark silhouette figure from the tip of its horns to the point of its blood-red blade.

"What is this place?" she asked again, her voice rising.

"You feel it, don't you?"

"Feel what?" Fear made her voice even more brittle than usual.

The question was a lie, and they both knew it. She may not have been born Force-sensitive, but she was too attuned to hyper-chlorians now to be impervious to the aura of Dark power emanating from the very grains of duracrete in this room.

For a moment, the Sith revelled in the Darkness that had been so elusive of late. It comforted him, consoled him like a mother to a prodigal son.

Sighing deeply, he held Padmé closer, ducking his head so he could press his chin against that soft hair, breathing in her scent deeply.

The hand that had unconsciously clutched him even after they entered the room was snatched away abruptly.

Long practice and it was still impossible to ignore the hurt of the gesture, the void left by the removal of that sweet, tormenting pressure.

"This is my heritage," he said softly. "The power and glory of the Sith. And I'm offering it to you, to share it with you."

There was a pause. In her aura, he felt the melee of panic and anger and disgust rising.

"I don't want it," she spat at last.

His head snapped back. He tried to keep reason and not irritation in his voice. "You're being offered something that mere mortals have never even come close to _dreaming_ of possessing. Whatever power you have with the Jedi, it is nothing to what I can give you."

"You've asked me this before. My answer is still no."

"Not even if that power could help you save your Jedi friends?"

This time the pause was longer. Her mind was working.

"I don't believe that."

"I have never lied to you. I have never broken a promise."

There was no argument to that and Padmé knew it. Her eyes blazed. "I will not be your … _Empress_, Darth Vader. You are everything I loathe and despise. I wish you would kill me and be done with it."

The fingers that were curled around her tightened so fiercely that she yelped in pain.

He cursed under his breath, loosened his grip at once. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I…"

"Do you want to break me, too?"

He forced his grip to loosen, his breath to slow, his heart to stop pounding… to stop…

"I have something to show you," he choked out.

He walked to the narrow window and lifted her slightly so she could see the City from the highest point on its landscape.

She gasped. He almost smiled.

In the brief moment between night and dawn, when the nightlights of Imperial City were dimming and the first rays of its star peeked from behind the jagged horizon of spires and skyscrapers, refracting and reflecting against the landscape of diamond and glass, and covering the world beneath in a blanket of colours, rainbow and gold…

The bright jewel of Coruscant glowed.

A small pale hand reached for it, fingers stretching as if she could touch…

_It came to him, the Jewel of the Force and the longing threw him to his knees. His hand reached for the Crystal, and it crossed his mind that if he could destroy it somehow..._

Padmé looked at Coruscant and Vader looked at her. Her hair was free and the early dawn light made the long ropes of dark curls glow. Her face was pale, as always. It seemed with everyday she stayed in the Palace, she grew paler and paler. A flower wilting away without the sun of freedom.

His throat tightened painfully.

"Why have you brought me here?" Padmé asked, her voice hushed and awed. Whether she realized it or not, the hand that was not reaching for the City was holding his wrist so tightly, his hand was cold with numbness.

"My Ascension is at hand. All this and more will soon be mine… ours."

She tore her gaze from the grandeur below to stare at him, her eyes dark and large in her pale face. He pulled her back into his arms. "You have challenged him." It was not a question.

"Yes."

Her eyes widened. "So is he…?"

"No. The Emperor is no fool. He will not come here, to his death." Vader almost laughed. "I will go and give it to him."

Hope flared brightly in her eyes and the smile melted off his face. "No, you will not get your wish, my lady. I have no intention of being murdered by the old ghoul."

"There is always the possibility," she retorted, smiling. Maliciously. Unkindly.

"If I were to die, what do you think would happen to you?" he snarled. "You're a Guardian, a Jedi Keeper. The law alone will find you guilty of terrorism and occultism. The Emperor will punish you for…" He stopped abruptly. Nausea rose in him as he followed the thought through to conclusion.

_No… No!_

"For what?" she insisted.

He looked into her face, saw the constant fear that lurked beneath the aura of bravado and made the decision then. "It doesn't matter because I won't permit it. It seems that you are getting all your wishes today, my lady. I am returning you to your Jedi friends."

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I will not be bait."

"You won't have a choice. You can choose to stay, and watch the Jedi student die slowly and painfully before your very eyes."

The defiance in her eyes went out like a light. She turned her gaze away.

She was a bird hurling its broken wings beating desperately against its cage. Her helplessness, her fury, her resignation… it was intoxicating.

_Feel it. Accept it. This is your life now… forever… _

"Remember how you didn't believe when I said I killed those traitors mercifully? When I am done with your Jedi friend, you will."

There was a long silence. Padmé's eyes were fixed on one of the columns, and her fists were clenched so tightly – one in his tunic, and the other against her heart – that he actually tensed for her to use them on him.

"Fine," she said at last.

The moment of triumph was short-lived.

One balled up fist swiped her eyes furiously. With a little tremor of shock, he realized that she was close to tears.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate you?"

When he finally found the voice to speak, it surprised him how normal it sounded… not broken with tears, or screaming with anguish, or choked with blood from a heart he had never realized he had…

"Then enjoy the last remaining days of your freedom, my lady. Because when I am Emperor, I will come for you."

_'You will never find me.' _

Padmé did not say the words. She did not need to.

And because it would be the last for a long time, he shifted his grip so it cradled her head and bent his own towards her face. "A promise," he whispered against her lips before he claimed them.

She realized what he wanted a moment too late, his mouth swallowing the little scream.

Her fists did strike then. But there was little room between her body and his own and her fear, her rising sense of helplessness only fed the hungry monster that he was.

_'Realize this soon, Padmé Naberrie. There is no escape from me.' _

* * *

Thanks very much **Padakin**, **GalaxyPink**, **a b**, **Naberrie Skyler**, **Ann Jinn** and **Naturekid** for all the kind reviews, especially the concrit which really helped shape the end of the last chapter. 


	23. Banishment

**Kaleidoscope

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**23, Banishment**

_Yavin_

Despite Padmé's best efforts, it wasn't long before she was found.

It was a still dawn, not even a breath of wind to whistle through the leafy walls or lift the heavy curtain of hair, worn uncharacteristically loose, from her shoulders. In silent resignation, she watched Obi-Wan's ascent up the tall perennial to where she was perched in the abandoned look-out post.

When they were within talking distance, he stopped and waved with the hand that wasn't supporting his weight against a branch. "Thin air here, milady," he said breezily.

She couldn't help but smile. "Small talk isn't your strongest suit, Obi-Wan."

He grimaced ruefully. "Well then… There was raid was made in one of the Centers. Four children were recovered, relocated to Alderaan."

The smile melted from Padmé's face. "Can't they be brought here?"

He gave her a stern look. "That has never been the custom.."

Padmé looked down at her interlocked fingers.

"Your ship is ready."

After their conversation the night before she had expected this but… "So soon."

"You have all the answers you need," he said, more gently. "There's no more reason for you to stay."

"Do I?" she wondered out loud. _Isn't there?_ She wondered to herself. Then she looked at him. "What have you decided about Vader?"

"Nothing." At her look of skepticism, he repeated it. "Nothing, Padmé. Believe me."

"Nothing except to keep me away from him."

"To keep _him_ away from _you_," he corrected sternly.

"And you think you can hold him without my help?"

"Let us worry about that," Obi-Wan retorted. "Don't forget that your duties are to us, not to the Sith."

Irritation flared within her. "I choose whom I serve, Grandmaster."

"I know," he said quickly. "It wasn't meant that…"

"I've heard enough," Padmé said abruptly. The irritation he had sparked was rising and she felt as if she couldn't bear to look at his face for a moment longer. "Leave me at once."

He was taken aback. She supposed he had every right to be so. Even she felt a little surprise at herself. She rarely, if ever, spoke to him – or anyone for that matter – with such imperiousness. But Obi-Wan merely bowed as best he could while hanging from a tree branch, and began his descent to the ground.

Padmé watched closely until he was out of sight, then turned her gaze to the red planet of Yavin, rising above the tree-trops. A gentle breeze started and her hair lifted from her shoulders. She imagined she could feel soft hands running through the curls.

The Guardian's ship left the dock a few hours later. There was no time to say goodbye, to the children, to the other Jedi… or to a certain prisoner.

The expression on Padmé's face through the thin glass of the cockpit was hard to read. Closed and cold. It was impossible to say if she was furious or merely resigned.

Obi-Wan watched the vessel become a thin point in the sky, and confirmed from the control room that it had entered hyperspace. Only then did he permit himself a sigh.

The Force swelled around Vader like a cyclone of tears. Obi-Wan would have felt sorry for the Sith if it was possible to feel sorry for a murderer and sociopath.

"What did you expect?" he asked curiously.

The Sith didn't look up from where he sat on the bed, his head bent over his arms, his shoulders shaking.

"For a Sith, you do a lot of dreaming," Obi-Wan concluded. With a mocking little bow, he made to go.

"You fool!" Vader shouted.

Obi-Wan halted to stare at the other man. Vader had finally lifted his head and was glaring at him with eyes that were red with hate. The unnatural stare sent bile rushing to the Jedi's throat, and his saber open in his hand before he had even thought.

Vader's eyes went briefly to the blade and he laughed. Harshly. Painfully. "Are you afraid, Jedi? I am your defenseless, Force-bled prisoner and _you _are afraid?"

"A fangless snake can still spit poison," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"Epithets!" Vader spat. "The Jedi is quoting epithets to me!"

"Are you insane?" Obi-Wan asked concernedly. Vader certainly looked it. His eyes, his face… The Sith had never looked more deranged and that was saying something.

"I am being driven mad by your Light Side idiocy!" Vader shouted and he jumped to his feet.

On pure instinct, Obi-Wan lifted his blade across his body, stretched out his hand with the other.

Vader ignored both, still advanced forward.

"The Emperor has been hunting me for the past seven days. _Seven days._ Do you have any idea how much information he must have gathered in that time?

His eyes were all but flashing fire. Around him, the Force scorched.

"The bounty hunter I hired… the bounty I placed… Don't you realize that it all leads to _her_?"

"Your concern is touching, Sith…"

"Don't patronize me!" Vader snarled.

"…but the Guardian is accustomed to being hunted by the Empire. She can take good care of herself. You on the other hand…"

He never finished his sentence. Vader had launched himself at him, his hands curved like claws.

Obi-Wan's battle-readiness did not fail him. The Sith was within touching distance when the lightning poured from the Jedi's hand. The arc was short, and the full blast shattered through Vader's body.

He curved backwards, still standing, taken by surprise, and nothing more. His ability to withstand pain was unnaturally high. It was the Force that was screaming.

The force fields lifted and a half dozen Jedi ran in, their sabers blazing.

Vader had straightened back into an upright stance and his red eyes took in the small army with the gaze of a trapped beast.

"You are outnumbered," Obi-Wan said calmly. "Yield or we will kill you!"

Anger seemed to burn hotter in the Sith and with a small sensation of alarm, Obi-Wan felt his own lightning burning through his hand. Almost before the observation had struck home, Vader dropped to his knees, his head bowed.

At once, Obi-Wan lifted his hand.

The smell of smoke filled the room. The Sith's clothes were singed and tattered.

The Jedi closed in, their lightsabres flashing blue and green.

"He has yielded," Obi-Wan said unnecessarily, still keeping a wary eye on the Sith.

"For now," Vader growled, his head still bowed. "For now."

A few of the Jedi laughed. A noise that was abruptly cut short by a swift glare from the Sith.

They left him there, kneeling on the floor of his cell, his arms clenched tightly around his centre.

The Force was silent.

Hours later, it begun.

Children huddled close to their Master as the older Jedi took them through basic training exercises, his own movements uneven. The patients in the Healing ward were fitful and restive and the Healers struggled to calm them while trembling within themselves.

In his office, Obi-Wan abandoned his study of the old Grandmaster's journals and just sat at his desk, eyes wide shut as he stared silently into the Force.

The howling went on for most of the night.

When it finally stopped, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The contents of the high shelves that lined his walls lay on the ground, most of it in broken pieces.

The Grandmaster went to the Sith's cell. The corridors leading towards the jail were littered with evidence of a small earthquake. Wide eyes, frightened and furious stared at him as he passed.

"Grandmaster…"

He passed them by without a word, silencing them with a wave of his hand when they persisted.

The single hall that ended in Vader's cell was also littered… with the bodies of Jedi in various stages of unconsciousness.

The cell was empty. The demon had flown.

If one listened hard enough, one could hear the sound of laughter.

The Grandmaster stared a through the shimmering, invisible wall to the empty cage before him until the burden had settled so completely on his shoulders, he almost did not feel it.

Almost.

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Thanks very much **fialleril** and **GalaxyPink **for the feedback to (now) Chapter 20. 


	24. Desert Rain

**Kaleidoscope

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**24, Desert Rain**

The spray from the waterfall was thick, drenching Padmé through her thin clothes and right to her skin. She barely noticed. Her eyes were closed to the world and she saw only the darkness of rebirth. She was no longer Padmé Naberrie, but a creature of the earth, springing out of the water full grown…

A hard shove jolted her out of the fantasy. She opened her eyes in time to watch her own fall into the deep lake.

"Sola!" she screamed, flailing, and promptly swallowed a mouthful of white water.

Her perfectly dry sister stood on the rocky ledge, laughing so hard she was half-bent with one hand on a knee.

"I'll get you for that," Padmé promised.

"You'll have to catch me first," Sola crowed and turned to run.

She didn't go very far. Padmé caught up with her a few meters away and after some tugging and screaming, the two sisters were both in the lake. Dunking, splashing and laughing proceeded.

"Will you girls hurry up?"

Padmé surfaced from a particularly long submersion to see her mother's lovely, un-aged face smiling at them with exasperation.

"In a moment, Mama," Sola promised, her brown eyes sobering at once. Her distraction cost her as Padmé promptly seized the chance to splash at her sister viciously.

"You cheat! I'll get you for that!"

"Ha!" Padmé snorted, swimming towards the waterfall.

Their mother sighed. "Take your time, dears," she said with only a little irony. She looked up at her husband who had joined her at the bank. "They think they're still children," she complained.

The corners of Ruwee's eyes crinkled with laugh lines, not age. "Well they never really were." And he softened the words with a kiss on the forehead.

Padmé reached the waterfall first, threading water so that she could lift her head and feel the white foam on her face. It caressed her like the warmth of her family's love.

-------

She opened her eyes and the first sensation was the fat drop of water sliding down her brow. Above her was black sky, thick with dragon-shaped clouds, dark and leathery and glowing in spaces with distant lightning. The horizon was a line between the sky and coal-colored sand, stretching for as far as the eye could see.

She was lying on her side, a cloak she did not remember taking, covering her. Beneath her, the ground was bone-chillingly cold and rumbling with expectancy. The desert air was thick with moisture and her belly leaped with excitement…

Waiting… wanting…

_waiting for the beast… wanting to be born…_

She sat up slowly, keeping the cloak around her and the wind hit her full in the face, slapping her hair back in almost horizontal curls, snatching the cloak from her shoulders. She turned to grab it and saw it fly into the hands of the figure crouched a few feet from her.

Her companion rescuer, his face hidden as always with the mask of cloth he sometimes used instead of a hood.

"Inside," he shouted. He gestured at the wind and dark sky, then at the metallic hills of wreckage in the distance in the mute-like way that was characteristic of him. He still preferred not to speak at all if he could not help it.

She stretched out an arm, and waited until he realized what she wanted. She smiled broadly as he ducked his head self-consciously; visibly squaring his shoulders, he got to his feet and walked to her.

She saw why he preferred the mask today. The wind would have thrown his hood back, exposed his face. Especially with the way he walked in it, leaning into it, not away from it, as if daring – or hoping – it would carry him away.

He held out his left hand, his fingertips hovering inches from her hand as if he did not quite dare. She grabbed it and her fingers threaded with his.

The sky went white as the silver bow arched from it to the ground. Padmé felt the electricity go all the way from her hand to her stomach to her feet. As he pulled her to him, the skies finally opened and the water crashed down on the desert sand.

They were standing in each other's spaces. His blue eyes shown from the rivulets that streamed from his hair, down the sharp planes of his gaunt face, and behind the half-mask. In the half-darkness, half-light of the storm, she glimpsed the scarring. It made him look like a half-man half-monster. A being of terrible beauty.

"Dance with me," she whispered.

"What?" He shouted.

She snatched her hand away and ran.

"Catch me!" She called, looking back and seeing him standing still, apparently in shock.

She didn't hear his answer but it didn't sound pleased. She laughed and ran, throwing her arms wide open, embracing the sky.

_small skulls clacking with laughter…as the wind scattered the tiny hollow bones… _

Lighting struck a few feet away from her. She felt the dust swirl where it hit home and she laughed with the thunder.

When his arms grabbed her from behind, she turned right into them and laughed into his face.

"Inside," he shouted again.

"No!" She was smiling, standing still in circle of his arms. She was drenched with rain, and she had never felt warmer. She tugged at his hands, both flesh and scar, pulled him to her. "Dance with me!"

"I don't…"

"I can't dance alone…"she insisted, stepping completely into his space. The mask had come free, revealing his face, half of which was slick and shining in the lightning, the other half a mask of itself. She raised her hand and traced the pattern of scars on his face, felt the pulse leap against her fingers as they brushed the raised skin on his neck, sliding her hand all the way down to the scarring on his chest. The little arcs traveled all the way up her arm.

He was staring at her. His eyes were so wide, she could see the flames ringing the irises. They were glazing over, darkening with a wanting that should have frightened her but only made her heart begin to pound with anticipation.

His scarred hand lifted up, trapped her fingers against his chest. She felt his hesitation, his nervous acceptance and she stepped even closer, close enough to see the tiny holes in his flesh skin, the heliography of his scars, close enough for the steady rise and fall of his lungs to beat a rising tempo against her skin… under her skin… rising in her belly until she was afraid that if he didn't…

His eyes fell shut.

She was never sure who moved first. But it didn't matter because his mouth finally descended on hers. The long moan that came from her very core was one of relief.

Fire. Like lava pouring down her throat.

Her hands left his, rose up to tangle into his wet hair as his tongue and lips clashed with her own. His arms were like iron bands around her, and she felt his hands go deep, slide underneath the wet cloth to touch her skin, to touch her core… Only she wasn't a creature of flesh and sinew, but of water, being reborn after the forging with fire and lightning. They both were.

His lips left her mouth and she sobbed in protest only silenced when they moved to her throat, and she felt the soft parting of cloth beneath their hands. Felt the sand, no longer cold but kiln-warm, against her back. Felt his voice, whispering promises in her ears:

_'Drown me, desert witch. Bury me in your arms.' _

_**TBC**

* * *

Thanks very much **sue**, **Padakin**, **Fialleril** and **wolf **for the feedback! Padakin for your question - the Jedi/Gaurdian relationship is not a military one. No one can order any one around but __usually_, the Gaurdian follows the Grandmaster's instructions. At the same time, the Gaurdian's work is entirely voluntary and her only obligations are self-imposed ones. Hope that clears up some of the confusion! 


	25. Ejima

**Kaleidoscope _

* * *

_**

**25, Ejima**

_Imperial City (Coruscant). _

Nine Years Ago

Broad daylight. The centre of a busy plaza. Spy droids making their rounds up and down the walkways.

The man tipped his hat as he passed a cluster of young belles (they replied with a flutter of curtsies), dropped a coin into the service droid that stood at the edge of the turbolift and grinned at the school children he shared the booth with (they grinned back while each privately concluded that his hat was horrendous). He traveled a few more walkways, rescued a young man from a malfunctioning cleaning droid, and smiled at the service droid that scanned the patrons as they entered through the force-field barrier. Successfully passing through, he strolled into the highbrow caf, stood chatting for a while with the elderly patrons, and finally made his way to the table at the corner.

A man sat with his back to the rest of the room. His face was trained at the wall-long plasti glass before him and if not for his shut eyes, he might have been contemplating the rhythmic patterns of the speeder lanes.

He made no visible sign of awareness, not even a fluttering of his lashes, as the newcomer took the seat beside him.

"I wondered if you would come."

"Why not?" His companion wondered, leaning into his seat and shutting his eyes. "You serve the Force, as I do."

He smiled with eyes wide shut. "Which Force?"

"There is only one Force."

"A theory which has never been proven."

"Or disproved. For someone who once stretched the boundaries of faith – and shattered them – you have become rather close-minded, Grand Jedi Master."

"Is it wise to discuss so openly here?"

"Deaf and blind. The cameras have been taken care of as well. One of many protégés." Graying teeth flashed with a smile.

The Grandmaster's shut lids flew open to show a steady gaze that was filled with sad. "All tools of the Empire."

"Everyone's a tool. The difference between us, you and them is that we at least know who uses us."

Something flared in those ancient eyes. "Then tell me the reason for this summons, Tool of the Empire, but do not speak to me of things you know nothing about."

Low laughter. The kind that a mad man might make in his sleep. "No doubt you've followed the progress of Anakin Skywalker?"

"Yes." Surprise. Caution.

"And no doubt you've tried to snatch hold of him on many occasions and failed. The last time I believe, he killed one of your Jedi, didn't he?"

"Two as a matter of fact." The Grandmaster's voice hardened.

"Two? I must have lost count."

"Is this your purpose? To discover if we've given up the hope of winning one more soul for the Light Side?"

"The Light Side? Yes, an inspiring way of labeling your own agenda."

Silence.

"I brought up dogma again, didn't I? Pardon me. But the problem is, in the matter of Anakin Skywalker, it will be hard to exclude it. After all, you already knew when you found Shmi Skywalker that the child she carried was special, didn't you?"

Very briefly, the Tool's eyes closed. "Yes, we did. His mother was not hyper-chlorian before she conceived but after that… It was unnatural."

"You acted quickly enough. If not for a sheer chance, we might never have got to him on time."

"But you did."

A smile of wicked content spread over the Tool's face. "Yes, we did, didn't we? As you probably know, I have a unique relationship with the boy. I delivered him during childbirth, and brought him up ever since. No altruism on my part. The Emperor developed an interest in him. Who wouldn't have with Skywalker's history? But Palpatine doesn't have time to baby-sit so someone else was brought in.

"We – how did you call me? – Tools find little service to fulfill in the Court so having a young Hand to train has given me a reason to exist as long as I did." His voice became thoughtful. Something that might have been emotion almost – almost seemed to enter it. "I might have done it anyway, though. The boy's power was … hypnotic."

"Is that why Vapaad tried to have him killed at the age of five?"

Laughter. "Your informants were brilliant! It's too bad they died the way they did."

To that, the Grandmaster answered with silence.

"As I was saying, I trained Anakin Skywalker. And while I did, I studied some of the old books, the 'forbidden' literature of the Old Times. Before there was a schism. When there was no Dark or Light or Jedi or Sith, but just the Force, and its slave children. And do you know what I discovered?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That Anakin Skywalker is the Force's avatar. Whether the Light Side or the Dark Side is left for anyone else to decide.

"And that I was living in – how do the Alderaanis describe it? – interesting times."

A very long pause. Then unexpectedly, the Grandmaster sighed.

"So the Sith are aware of the Prophecy? That they have the One."

"All the signs are there. There have been false alarms in the past but this time… there is no doubt. Unless you choose to be blind."

"Then all is lost. He is of the Dark Side."

"What do you propose to do? Destroy him?"

Silence.

"Your focus indicates a rather uncompromising reality."

The Grandmaster glared right at the shut eyes of the other man. "Why, I wonder?" He asked in a dangerously, low whisper. "That is what you want, isn't it?"

Silence. Not so much motion from the other man, but a slight startle in his aura, like a waiting fox who was suddenly discovered.

"That is why you have told us this. The Emperor will not think of it. He's too besotted with power, with the idea that he might actually control the Force through Skywalker. And there's the Court politics to remember. He needs a shield to hold off Vapaad's ambition and that is Skywalker.

"But not you," the Jedi concluded sadly. "As long as the Rule of Two and the Sith Dynasty exists, you are satisfied. And Skywalker threatens that. You are afraid of him. Afraid of the prophecy. Of what might happen if his power were turned on you all. So you wanted to discover if we had given up turning him. And you wanted the Jedi to destroy him."

The eyes finally opened. A pair of soulless grays that echoed long ago madness. "Very clever," the Jinn whispered.

The Jedi swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. "A little subtlety would have served you better. Lord Jinn, you disappoint me. The Emperor holds you in such high esteem."

"You will do it all the same." All traces of humor had leached out of Jinn's voice.

"We will not be your murderers for you."

"Kill or be killed. Have you forgotten, _Teacher_?"

A shadow passed over the Grandmaster's face, but his stern gaze did not waver. "That was a lifetime ago."

"For you, maybe. But some of us are still alive."

"You had a choice. You _have_ a choice."

"And so do you. This boy will destroy all of us. As bad as the status quo is for you Jedi, at least you have your insignificant lives. Your covens. That hidden Temple of yours… Why the surprise? Spies work for both sides. They talked a lot before they died."

It raised swift as a beast in the Jedi's breast and the Jinn's eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction.

"Tyrannus is still there somewhere, isn't he?"

A few years ago, the slip would have shamed the Jedi. Now he looked at his pre-carnation's student with a dignity that the other would never understand. "He is always there. And everyday, I fight him. Everyday, I make the choice: to fight."

Jinn's eyes just gleamed more brightly.

The Jedi rose to his feet. The Force slipped through his soul in desperately soothing waves and he gave his once-upon-a-time brethren/student/friend a look of immense pity.

"May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon."

The Jinn laughed. "Yes, but which Force, apostate?"

But the Jedi was already walking away. His long cloak swept the floor of the room. Jinn imagined he could see the flames leaping at the other's heels.

"Will you be having anything, sir?"

Jinn raised his head slowly to appraise the young waiter. He would do.

The expression of horror on the young man's face was only less delightful than the death-throes of the soul thrashing in the Force.

Far away, he could feel Tyrannus roar only to be beat back with steadier outrage.

The Jinn smiled.

_"A present for you, my friend. A reminder that when the time is right, you'll know where to find me. _

"And you will kill him for me."

Lord Jinn closed his eyes to the service droids that cleaned away the carcass as he returned to his blind contemplation of the rhythmic patterns of traffic and he listened to the symphonic acceleration of death.

**_End of Part One_**


	26. Prodigal

**Kaleidoscope _

* * *

_**

**26, Prodigal**

_The deepest circle… _

Once upon the time, the boy who was born Naboo had known the darkest emotions. Or so he believed. He also believed he had mastered them. Mastered the poisons that saturated the soul and made the body omniscient in life.

In life.

What is this place?" He whispered, his scared child's voice strange in his ears.

"Do you not recognize it, old friend?"

The leaping flames, the demon faces.

"Or would you prefer not to?"

"This is a dream."

The familiar cynical smile was incongruous on the young face of the Serronian. "Have you forgotten our lessons? Sith do not dream. They have visions."

"Where else did you think you would end up in?"

''

Naboo

Palpatine's power seeped out of the open wound like the gushing red blood. His fingers grasped, trying to hold it in, but it was a pointless gesture and only made his death come faster.

"You… fool."

The fire in Vader's eyes had died, and he watched his Master's death with a clear blue gaze. There was a thin sheen of perspiration on his face, his body half-bowed over the durasteel sword he held in his left grip. He looked the picture of casual exhaustion, which was a laughable understatement of the reality. For the old Sith Master always died with the bond intact, and the Apprentice 'died' in a sense, along with his Master.

Died and was reborn as Master.

As Emperor.

"Do not go gracelessly into the night," Vader said to Sidious, smiling through his pain. He felt like if his bones were being crushed into fine powder and then remolded. "Rejoice in the unbroken line of the Empire."

"You d…" But he was too weak to speak. After a moment of glaring, the old man's eye fell short.

Vader closed his own and braced himself for the Death.

_You do not do this for the Sith! _

The Apprentice almost fell out of his pose. His eyes flew open to Sidious's malicious one-eyed gaze.

_Do not deny it. You do it for _Her

Vader snarled. "You die too slowly, old man." And he ran the blade through the single eye, until it had pierced the floor underneath.

The Dark side opened like a vortex around the old Sith Lord and Vader sank into oblivion.

''

_One demon face pressed right up against his own and a forked tongue beckoned to him. _

"Leave him be," the Serronian snapped. "I am not finished with him."

It retreated, hissing.

"There are cadres here, then?" the Naboo asked, clinging steadfastly to shrewdness, ignoring the fear and disgust.

The old smile again. "In a manner of speaking. Do you know which you belong to?"

"Higher than you, no doubt."

Laughter. It frightened the demons. Sent them shrieking into their caves… or holes… or pits...?

"But you forget, dear Palpatine. I was never a Sith."

''

Naboo

The pale, colorless eyes watched the gentle fall of water on the landscape. The rain brought with it the sharp cold smell that heralded the winter solstice. When that day came, it would be fourteen days since his apprentice had disappeared.

A gentle footfall broke his contemplation.

Sidious smiled.

"Welcome back, Lord Vader."

"Master."

He didn't need to turn around to see that elegant genuflection, the sharp, proud bow.

"Rise."

He could sense it in the Force. Could sense the less than graceful ascent of his apprentice. Sense the hairline fissures in the muscles of Vader's chest. The microscopic cracks in the aura of Dark power than pervaded the younger Sith.

"Come, Lord Vader and stand beside me."

Vader did so. For a moment, the two Sith merely basked in the gentle spray of rainwater through the open window.

"The Hands have been searching for you."

"You would have been disappointed if they had found me, my Master."

Sidious chuckled. "Yes, I would have." At once his smile vanished. "Explain. Yourself."

Vader's response was prompt. Too prompt.

"In the process of hunting down Jedi Kenobi, I was captured by the Jedi and imprisoned. I have only just escaped."

"Hunting down Jedi Kenobi?" The Emperor's voice was a deadly whisper.

"Jedi Kenobi was a fugitive from the dun-"

"I am aware of that, Lord Vader," Sidious rasped. "I am also aware that you hired a bounty hunter named Jango Fett to find the Jedi Keeper Naberrie. I am aware that the day you disappeared, you had a rendezvous with this Fett."

Vader stared stonily at the falling water. The sunlight glinted off the thick droplets, forming an unsteady mirror. In the reflection, his dark frame glinted with transient light like a strange sword made of shadow and black steel.

"Lord Vader?"

"Master?"

"What have you to say to this?"

"I did not hear a question, Master."

The Emperor's fingers crackled with barely suppressed rage.

Vader locked eyes with his own reflection. "Master, you know I can keep no secrets from you."

"And you resent that, don't you? You hunger for the day when your mind will be your own."

Vader watched the sword and shadow man smile. What kind of a Sith apprentice would he be if he did not long to overthrow his Master?

"Have you forgotten the Oath, Lord Sidious? The apprentice's loyalties to his Master come after his loyalty to the Sith Empire, and even that comes after his first loyalty – to himself."

''

_"Does he kill me?" _

A disbelieving look. "Does an apprentice kill his Master?"

"No… No. I mean – does he kill me for … a lesser reason? Does he betray us?"

"Us?"

"The Sith! The Empire! What we've stood for seven hundred years."

Tired smile. "You cannot deny that you were not forewarned. You had the Jinn, did you not? But you did not listen. In your arrogance, you thought he was yours to control."

Dooku's laugher had died down a some time (a few minutes? an eternity?) ago. The demons were back (had they really left?), hissing and snapping, trying to break into the conversation, envious of the one time peers' exclusiveness.

''

Naboo

The trail had led to Tatooine, to the graveyard of two ships, and…

_"ashes… and a human skull… we fear the worst, Lord Sidious…" _

But Vader had survived long after the crash. He, Sidious had felt the apprentice. Felt his Force-child struggling against the power of a greater fate. He had _felt_ him.

Then he had gone. Like a supernova in the Force, the bright star of Vader had died. The bond between Master and Apprentice had been severed. For all eternity.

For a moment, Sidious let himself mourn the loss, the _waste_ of it all.

Then his mind settled into its usual pragmatic state.

Jinn had had misgivings about the man who was Skywalker. Perhaps it was all for the best.

''

_"Sow how did _you/i end up /ihere_?" _

"I will not be here for long, old friend."

"We were never friends."

"You may not have been my friend, but I was certainly yours."

There was no lie in this place. The truth was plain and shocking in the boy's face. "Why?"

"I admired you. So perfect. So cold. So completely without conscience. You were so sure of your destiny. So ruthless in fulfilling it."

"And you doubted yours until the end," Palpatine sneered. "And here we both are."

"For a time." The other was unruffled. "My penance will soon be over. And I shall move on. But you… you are bound here forever.

"I am finished. He is all yours."

The child-Dooku inclined his head towards the demon faces, and for the first time Palpatine recognized them. Even with their enfant forms, it was a wonder how he had failed to do so before.

Bane. The Ancient One. His own Master Plageius.

They looked… displeased.

"Welcome home, Darth Sidious."

''

_Naboo_

_"You lost the Sith Empire. You have the whole of eternity to explain why." _

The shadows of the chamber seemed to shriek and hide as the Sith Master opened his eyes. He lay on his bed, staring up at the fresco on the wall, thinking on the vision, and trying to understand the strange emotion that made his body shiver in the warm Naboo night.

You see, it had been so long since the Sith Master felt fear that he failed to recognize it.

_**TBC**

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_

_Thank you so much **Naberrie Skyler**, **sue**, **Ann Jinn**, **Fialleril**, **Padakin**, and **GalaxyPink** for your feedback in the last chapter! Yes, the Grandmaster is (mirror!)Dooku (cookies to those of you who guessed before then) and he used to be a Sith called Tyrannus. And yes, the crazy/evil guy was (mirror!) Qui-Gon Jinn. It's through a mirror darkly, after all!_


	27. Legacy

**Kaleidoscope **  
**

* * *

27, Legacy**

Padmé had been too afraid to remain with the Jedi. They had taken her back, welcomed her with open arms, clinging arms, desperate arms…

The Grandmaster had vanished. He had left no word, no sign, no hope.

No successor.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was probably the only one that did not know he was the Grandmaster's favoured successor, was dead.

"I cannot stay," Padmé whispered, the words forcing themselves out of stiff lips.

Xanatos's eyes closed but not before she saw the shock and pain in them.

"We have never been dealt a worse blow in three centuries. The Sith have struck from the head, cut off our leaders and left us floundering."

Padmé's hands twisted where they rested in her lap. The earnestness of her argument was injured by the need to conceal. "Vader will come after me. My return is a respite… nothing more."

"We will protect—"

She almost laughed. "It will not be enough! He has… If I remain with you, he will find you and destroy you."

"What about the Padawan? Isn't she still a hostage? Will your escape not mean her death?"

_That did not concern you when you wished I should stay! _She thought angrily but she bit the words back. They were not to blame. They were lost and afraid, like little children, abandoned by father and mother…

It was her turn to close her eyes. "Your own wisdom teaches that it is better for one to die for the many than the many to die for the one." _And I am no longer one. Not anymore._

"So you forsake us, our albatross?"

"I have no choice."

''

The years stretched before Padmé Naberrie, a desolate and empty wilderness. She would have to keep moving, living on the run, like before but far, far worse. Her life as a Guardian was over. She would never be able to keep living contacts. Friendships were out of the question. The brand he had placed on her was more severe than a scar, and more permanent. She would never be safe from him. And she would never be safe with him.

The idea of just letting Darth Vader find her crossed Padmé' mind more than was. It was a temptation – seductive, beguiling. He had offered her so much – no more running; power of a considerable degree. He was infatuated enough with her to keep his part of the bargain. And in exchange? Her mind shied away from the idea, the memory. The old sense of horror and guilt was not one she could afford to indulge in. Not now.

Not when the option of taking matters into her own hands and spiting him in the worse way possible was no longer her choice alone.

It was a risk to return to her old rooms in Naboo but she needed to collect her astromech droid.

"I need one friend at least," she whispered, her face pressed against the droid's body as the silent tears trickled down her cheek and down the smooth surface.

Artoo beeped comfortingly.

It was silent in the apartment; Theed had long gone to sleep. Artoo's beeps fell into a soothing rhythm with her own heart beat. In her mind's ear, she imagined the strong, erratic pounding of the new Emperor's heart, a sound that seemed as branded into her memories as Vader himself… She heard the whisper within her, a sound still unformed, but becoming stronger and stronger each day – the soft heartbeat of the child he had placed within her.

_**TBC**

* * *

_

_**Fialleril** - I am so glad you enjoyed it and that you got the three storylines thing. I'm really flattered you think I have a grasp of Sidious' head - it's not as uncomfortable as I thought but I won't visit too often. g _

_**BabaBiP** - blushes. Thank you!_


	28. Token

**Kaleidoscope **

**

* * *

**

**28, Token**

_Imperial Centre (Coruscant)_

The Jedi Padawan was little more than skin and bones. She had not had Kenobi's resistance to torture and it was a wonder that the double ordeal had not killed her. Vader's methods had been brutal but business-like. Ferus Olin was a mad-man.

When Vader cut her down, she crumpled to the floor like empty clothes. None too gently, he grabbed her chin and made her look at him.

"It is a pity that they did not kill you," she whispered through broken teeth.

"What did you tell them?" He demanded.

The flinch of fear told him that the torture had broken her completely. "Everything," she said, and sobbed.

"Obviously your people valued my death more than they do your life," Vader said, letting her go and straightening to his full height.

She sank into her grief, wailing loudly. He gave her an impatient look. His words were not meant to hurt, only express his own thoughts and her reaction irritated him.

"Are you of any value to them at all? An apprentice, a healer not a warrior…?"

"Kill me," she whispered. "I beg you… kill me…"

He ignored her, pacing the length of the dungeon, thinking. It seemed like a long time since he had let intelligence and not passion rule his decisions. But it wasn't really that long… only recently when he had found Kenobi and taken that first step to _Her_.

Ruthlessly, he forced his mind at the task at hand. It had cost him a great deal less than it _ought_ to have cost him, but he had finally learnt that if he ever wanted any chance of getting his heart's desire, it would not be by letting his passions rules him.

He came full circle as he came to his decision, and almost smiled at the simplicity of it.

''

_Holonet News Broadcast: _

_We regret to announce the sudden death of Deputy Governor Jankerrie, his wife Lady Jankerrie and their two children in a tragic accident in their ancestral home. The Jankerrie family will be remembered for their contributions towards the Great Empire and the Colonies of Naboo... _

''

_Naboo_

The three girls in the holo may have been sisters - the same shade of brown in their hair, strikingly similar features.

Lovingly, Padmé's finger traced Sola's smile.

She had other images of her sister but they were all kept in her apartment on Naboo - a no-go area for now.

By all rights so should have been the Jankerries' home, but she had to come… she had to see…

_This used to be my playground… _

The authorities had sent cleaning droids, and all signs of shattered glass, broken furniture, blood-splattered walls and corpses had been thoroughly erased. But they could not erase the ghosts. Standing there in the empty hallway, Padmé could almost see them, almost feel their memories - memories of kindness, of intrigue, of betrayal… of murder.

Thoughtfully, she gazed at the holo again, studied Sabé's five-year-old face.

"My poor sister," Padmé said and tears filled her eyes. "I have finally lost you."

A door slid open and she jumped, then relaxed at the sight of Xanatos' familiar figure.

"My lady, we have tarried too long here," he said sternly.

Padmé sighed. "I know. I…" It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for more time, to try to explain to him the impulse that had driven her here against all reason. Then she let it go. "I am finished here."

He turned to go and she started to follow.

And then she froze.

It was as unmistakable as her own voice, the feeling of her own blood rushing through her veins. It pulled at her ribs, almost crushing them in its grip, and she cried out instinctively but not in pain.

Xanatos's blade was already alive in his hand. "He is here…" he gasped. "He is here."

His free hand shot out and grabbed Padmé and with a shock, she realized that she had been walking blindly towards the door, towards…

"No," she said, urgently trying to gather her words, trying to make sense of the jangle of noises in her head, in her blood… "You... can… not fight him," she managed to say.

"I will do what I must to protect you," Xanatos retorted. The fist around his lightsabre slammed against the controls on the door, locking it and them inside the room. Still holding onto Padmé, he proceeded to shut the windows as well. Automatically, the sensor lights came on and he ordered them off. Xanatos' blade was a narrow island of light in pitch-darkness. Padmé felt as if the lights had gone off inside her as well. Or rather, that they were so bright they had blinded her.

(Later on, she would try to analyze her feelings and conclude that it was not so much that her emotions were too confused that her mind could not understand them but that they were so clear that her mind had recoiled from what they meant.

Later.)

Now they waited. Xanatos' breath was steady but his pulse, which she could feel through his grip around her hand, was rapid.

''

Xanatos could feel the Sith approaching. It was like watching the sun setting but in reverse, the long shadow was the thing itself and it was creeping across the landscape, quenching light and life and everything in its path. It seemed a miracle to him that he had ever approached It in combat because surely, it was futile to fight against Something that was not alive.

The shadow stopped at the door and Xanatos tightened his grips on the blade and the Guardian. Beside him, he could feel her calm, an almost preternatural serenity and he felt that hard-wired loyalty rise into something more within him.

Unbidden, the memory of the top of the landing platform: the Sith on his knees with the Guardian lying defenseless in his arms rose in Xanatos's mind.

_Over my dead body. _

The simplicity of Xanatos the Jedi's task was like a cloak of calm which was shattered in the next moment by the Sith's laughter in his own mind.

_"Don't tempt me." _

And then two things happened at once:

All the windows and doors flew open.

The Sith vanished.

Xanatos was as certain of the latter as he had been of the Sith's arrival in the first place. It was as if the sun had suddenly appeared behind the moon after an eclipse. Still he tarried, instinctively suspecting a trap… It couldn't have been this easy… it couldn't.

Then the Guardian had tore out of his grip and was rushing through the doors. For a horrible, blind moment the Jedi thought that she was running _to_ the Sith… then he realized that she was running in time to catch something that was falling on the threshold of the hallway.

She caught it but its weight was too much and both women fell to the floor.

"Padawan Barriss!" Xanatos gasped, recognizing her in the thin, anaemic creature that was huddled in robes far larger than her size.

Padmé's hands were briskly examining Barriss, as relieved to see this Padawan alive as she was to have a distraction from her recent and very dangerous emotions. "She's alive. Quickly, let's take her home."

''

_Imperial Centre (Coruscant)_

Ferus stared at the empty cell, his mouth working furiously.

"A credit for your thoughts, Hand."

He whirled around to stare at Darth Vader's very blue, very mocking eyes.

He bowed automatically. "Nothing," he said and his voice was as stiff as his bow. _The Emperor will – _

"The Emperor has heard of this," Vader said pleasantly as he picked the words right out of Ferus' mind.

Ferus gave him a look that had frozen Grand Moffs and Vader laughed.

"If I did not know better I would have sworn that you weren't happy to have me back, Hand."

Without waiting for a reply, he walked away leaving Ferus fuming behind him.

It was lie. He had not told the Emperor nor was he inclined to – yet. Palpatine had his suspicions and he, Vader, was not…

…willing.

He was ready. He had been ready for a long time, and none so much as when he woke up in the stolen ship and felt he was already Emperor.

There had been a time in his life when that was all he wanted. Then he had met Winama… and her grand-daughter's face.

Then Padmé Naberrie herself.

The ornate hallways and corridors of the Imperial Palace were as familiar to Vader as the back of his hand, and he found his way to his quarters automatically. His mind was not on his journey, or on the lesser beings that halted with fearful respect as he passed them.

Quickly, he stepped into the chamber of dark red and black, almost expecting to find…

Nothing. There was nothing here for him. The disappointment, anticipated as it was, was acute. He stared broodingly at the black silk bedspreads, at the ivory-legged chair in the corner of the room, then prowled restlessly to the large windows and gazed sightlessly at the intricate walkways below.

Force, she had been near! Near enough for Vader to touch. With the Force. With his h_ands_. And he had walked away, or more honestly, flown away, as if the very denizens of Hell were on his heels.

Because if he had tarried any longer, he would have gone back on every rational decision he had made between Yavin and Coruscant.

_Not that way… never that way… _

But by the Force, this way was torturously long!

Not when he could feel her so near him, when he could feel that… that she might not be… _might_ consider…

No!

That way lay madness, and loss, and hatred burnt in so deeply that it could never be uprooted.

He raised his head, and in the afternoon light, the lines of harshness about his mouth and eyes were magnified. His hard blue eyes pierced through the Coruscant skies, trained at that spot in the heavens that housed Alderaan's star.

**_TBC_**

_

* * *

_


	29. Contemno

**Kaleidoscope **

**

* * *

**

**29, Contemno **

_His hand was curled so tightly around the handle of the vibro-axe that it would be days before the imprint of grooves would vanish from his skin. _

_"I can't… " _

_Teacher sighed loudly and the boy fell into fearful silence. His eyes flittered from the marble floor to the fresco walls to the Teacher's boots, to anything but the man's face or the conglomerate of metal and consciousness sitting in the chair before him. _

_Toopio's yellow disc eyes had never seemed so alive. _

_"I thought I was training a future Sith Lord," Teacher said and his voice was thick with sarcasm. The boy started shaking. "I didn't realize I was baby-sitting a child who clings to his toys." _

_"Anything else, please…" _

_The blow did not take him by surprise but it would have been worse if he had tried to avoid it. He swayed, barely holding his ground, and blinked away the tears that had nothing to do with physical pain. _

_"Master Anakin, are you in distress?" Toopio asked. _

_"Do not beg," Teacher snarled. "Don't tell me I have wasted all my time on you." _

_The boy shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and forcing the tears back. It would be worse for him if they fell. _

_"How can I be of service to you, Master Anakin?" Toopio insisted. _

_"Shut Up!" He screamed as an answer. It was harder to hold the tears back. _

_Teacher made a sound of disgust. "You will never be a Sith Lord," he declared and with that, turned his back on the pathetic scene, the heels of his black boots stabbing the floor as he moved further and further away from the boy and his droid. _

_The axe fell to the floor as the boy's hands rose to his face. He walked blindly towards the sitting droid, his creature and his friend _

_(he had spent months building Toopio, and stretched out one hand. _

_"Master-" _

_"I hate you!" With a snarl, he smashed his hand into Toopio's face. The droid toppled and fell. _

_"You stupid, empty, unworthy toy!" He kicked it once. Twice. Fell to his knees and choked on his sobs. _

_Toopio's ever-open saucer eyes stared slant-wise at his Master with blank confusion. "Master Anakin, what have I-" _

_"Shut Up!" _

_At the unconscious command, the axe flew into the boy's hand. "Shut Up!" he gasped. _

_Droid limbs flew off. _

_"Shut Up!" he said, in an almost normal voice. _

_Torso spilled out intestinal wiring. One photoreceptor snapped off, exposing a gaping hole red grease. _

_"Shut Up!" he whispered. _

_With each blow and each curse, his hand became firmer and firmer, less passionate, more deliberately destructive. The tears had long dried up, his cries diminished into numb, whispering firmness. _

_The boy said nothing when Toopio's smashed-in head rolled to the corner of the room and when Teacher's hand fell, hard and displeased on his shoulder, he was silent still. _

_''_

_Tatooine_

To the untrained eyes, the hyper-drive from the bounty hunter's ship was a barely recognizable mesh of metal and wires. The man sometimes named Vader looked at the tangle and saw working servomotors, scraps that could assemble to a few more, and a salvageable ion drive compensator. And surrounding him in that graveyard of ships was enough metal to re-build his customized craft.

It would take months of hard work, a brilliant mind and a determination to succeed, and while he had the first two in plenty, the last was not something he could swear on.

He leaned back away from the makeshift bench and sighed. Dust rose in front of him at once, a testament to just how long this habitat had been abandoned. He hadn't been here since… he blushed and self-consciously brushed his hair out of his eyes, the sand on his hand brushing against his scars.

The skylight was filled then freed as she stepped into the hold.

"I was lonely," she said by way of explanation, speaking in her usual sing-song accent. He could not decide whether it was her words or her voice that delighted him more. "Did you find anything?"

She floated towards him; her hair, loose and free, swung with each motion of her hips, the light filtering through her thin dress and outlining her graceful form perfectly.

His eyes traveled across the perfect lines of her face until they met the little smirk in her eyes. Flushing deeply, he looked away.

"What is this?" She asked, falling to her knees by him and cupping one cheek – the scarred one – with her hand, capturing his blush. When he didn't answer, she smiled teasingly but there was no malice in it. He curled into the caress, breathing in the scent of her skin deeply.

Her hand fell from his cheek to the tiny servomotor on the bench and he felt the loss acutely. "Can we use this?"

He took his time replying. The old burning had left a tenderness in his throat that refused to heal and made speaking a painful, cautious duty. And even after all this while, she still could leave him tongue-tied.

"Vaparator engine," he whispered. "Perhaps…"

Her finger touched the delicate gears carefully. "How did you learn…?" He drew in breath sharply and she stopped, biting her lip softly. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

He tried and failed to grasp the reality of her apologizing to him and just stared at his hands awkwardly. He could feel her gaze, determined under its gentleness, resting on his face.

_'Someday you will trust me.' _

He glanced at her and she was smiling. He didn't break away from her gaze, although he wanted to, awed and confused as he was at just _why _she allowed him such intimacies… her body, her mind, her heart …

"Don't you ever…" The words trailed away as breath failed him. He inhaled deeply and finished, "want to go back?"

Like a sudden storm, her eyes darkened. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

He made himself defy the warning in her voice. "You can't want to be…" _with me_ "here." He waved his hand in a gesture that captured the desolation of their environment – the broken ships, the barren world, the ruined _him_.

"As far from the bright center of the galaxy as possible?" Her mouth twisted a little but she did not smile.

He frowned at that. Coruscant, the Imperial Center, was many things. Brightness, Light was not one of them.

Briefly, very briefly, his mind dwelt on the Darkness, and he shied away from it.

"Do you want me to leave you?"

His hands were on her shoulders before he realized it. "NO!"

She looked away, her eyes choosing to fix on the servomotor. "You're always… You hide…"

"Not because of that," he rasped and coughed. Her hand went to his chest almost instinctively and he clutched it there urgently. She still did not look at him.

"Because if you do, I will. I don't know how or when but I will find a way to leave you-"

"I don't want you to. Please." _Look at me. _

She didn't. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said… pleaded. His grip tightened. _'Look at me. Please…'_

Her head snapped at once and he lost his breath again. Her eyes were shining, she was smiling… she had never looked so Beautiful.

And he realized it was the first time he had ever let her hear him.

The shock and fear of that occurrence dissolved under the display of such happiness. He would do more to make her keep looking at him like that.

"Then that's OK then," she said, happiness dancing in her voice, and leaned forward to kiss him.

He pulled her into his lap without breaking the kiss, wanting as much of the physical reassurance of her as possible. She made that soft, delightful noise against his mouth and he felt her hand, soft and dove-like gentle as they danced against his skin, trailing fire along their path. She was salt and water and air and everything that was necessary for life to flourish and he could never get enough of her or let her go no matter how badly he needed to or how dreadful the inevitable end of this would be.

_''_

_Threepio lay like a lamb for the slaughter on the bench and the vibro-axe rested in the boy's grip. _

_"Do it." _

_The grooves bit into his skin and he felt sweat pool in the spaces between. _

_"Master Anakin," Threepio began. _

_"Shut up," the boy replied in his deep, new voice. The droid did so at once, his photoreceptors whirling with something that was almost nervousness. _

_The droid was a fine specimen even if the boy did say so himself. The programming was so sophisticated that Threepio almost had a personality of its … _

_THWACK! _

_The boy's mental wanderings were halted by a sudden Force-slap and he almost jumped. Almost. _

_"What are you waiting for?" Teacher snapped. _

_The boy blinked. Once. Twice. _

_"I don't want to." _

_Silence. Dangerous. Anticipatory. _

_"What did you say?" asked Teacher quietly, very, very quietly. _

_The boy raised his head and looked into those mad gray eyes with a little madness of his own. "I said No." And he threw the axe at the man. _

_A sharp move to the left and the blade that was aiming for the ribs sank into Teacher's shoulder. _

_Teacher snarled out with pain and swayed on his feet, clutching the open wound with a fist that was rapidly soaking with crimson. "You…" _

_It was the first time that words failed him. _

_The boy held his gaze, realizing another first – that under the rush of power and fury that had caused him to inflict pain on his elder, his own fear had vanished. _

_Almost calmly, he called the vibro-axe into his open palm. _

_"You were lucky," he said honestly. "Next time, I won't give a warning." _

_Teacher stared at him, gray eyes rapidly turning black. _

_With a flick of the boy's wrist, the straps holding the droid down flew away and it slowly sat up. _

_"Come on Threepio," the boy said. Without a backward glance, he left the hall, the droid shuffling behind him, a pair of holes boring through his spine. _

_"Master, I do not under-" _

_"I told you to shut up." _

_Their words faded out of earshot. _

_The Jinn was alone in the Hall, the wound in his shoulder a throbbing but not unpleasant agony in his mind as his eyes blackened even further as madness, fear and pride battled within him. _

_In the end, the pride won. _

_

* * *

_

_**TBC**_


	30. Affirmation

**Kaleidoscope **

* * *

**Chapter 30, Affirmation**

_"Is he ready?" _

_Inwardly, you shift, hedging. There can be no lying to the Master but the truth is more than you can bear. _

_"Perhaps." _

_"Only perhaps?" And in his voice, you know he knows that you know… _

_It is time. _

_"He is head-strong… and arrogant…" You are still determined to postpone the inevitable. _

_"As well he should be if the mantle of the Empire is to pass unto him." _

_"… but he is capable. There is nothing more he can learn from me." _

_When the words come out, there is a surprising relief, like a burden being lifted. _

_No more…_

_'' _

_Imperial Centre _

Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith and Heir to the Empire, stepped into the cavernous Throne Room and in one graceful motion, flicked back his cloak and fell on one knee.

"Master."

Sidious lifted his hand and Vader rose to take his place by the Emperor's side. The two Sith gazed at the empty room and the black-marbled faces of their predecessors gazed back at them.

"You chose to release the Jedi Padawan?" Sidious murmured, staring up at Bane.

Vader gave his Master a quick glance, then returned his own gaze to a single blank column.

"I would have preferred to inform you of that at my own pace."

"Nothing occurs in the Palace without my knowledge, Darth Vader, as you should very well know."

There was silence. If the Emperor noticed the Heir's careful shields, he chose not to comment on them.

"When will you attack the traitor's base?"

"In good time, my Master."

"I find that answer most unsatisfactory."

"When I choose to strike, the Jedi's home will be obliterated. But you will let me choose- "

"I will?"

Vader turned so that he faced Sidious's profile squarely. "I owe Kenobi a death. I will deliver it personally," he said tersely. "The Code demands that unless the Empire is threatened, nothing comes between a Sith Lord and his vengeance."

"Do not quote the Code to me!" For the first time, Sidious's temper flared. And died almost immediately. His voice became mocking. "What makes you so sure you can inflict this vengeance on Kenobi? He over-powered you before."

Vader's fists balled. "He had help."

"The other Jedi?" The Emperor waved his hand dismissively. "The Hands investigated the site quite thoroughly. No evidence was found of the Grandmaster's presence or any Jedi of remarkable skill. Your failure is inexcusable."

"No doubt you would have done better against three Jedi," Vader snapped.

"My performance is none of your concern - or mine for that matter. I am already Emperor. You are only an Heir, and apparently, a poor excuse of one to allow the presence of a beautiful woman to distract you in a battle."

Vader froze.

The Emperor's sneer broadened into a wide smile that showed his craggy teeth. "You thought I did not know, my very, very young apprentice?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, old man," Vader ground through a clenched jaw.

His insolence only tickled his Master further. Sidious's chuckles were a sinister sound that echoed like insects along Vader's spine. "Perhaps you would like some advice on how to win your little toy?"

Rage flared, hot and dangerous in Vader and he felt his eyes glaze.

The chuckles died into a small, sneering smile. All this while, Sidious's gaze had never once left the image of Darth Bane. Now he turned to gaze at his apprentice, and those pale, pale eyes were bright with malicious amusement.

It was Vader who looked away first.

"May I be excused, my Master?"

"Running away, my apprentice?"

"As you said, I am not the Emperor. I actually have things to occupy myself with," Vader retorted and braced himself for his punishment. He had certainly gone too far there.

But Sidious's sneer did not so much as waver as he waved a dismissive hand.

Vader exited with a quick bow, his steps loud and fast even in his own ears; the sensation of his Master's eyes boring into his skull, reading his secret, hidden thoughts was so overpowering that he could have screamed.

He did not. He had more pressing worries than the constant dearth of privacy.

The Emperor's rages were not hard to recognize - they rarely varied outside explosive fury or cold wrath.

But he was not angry. He was not angry at all.

The Sith Master might have forgotten what it was to fear. The Sith Apprentice had not.

_''_

_Is he ready? _

_'' _

_Alderaan_

The cabin was set into a niche in the cliff-face of one of the highest mountains in the Southern Hemisphere of Alderaan. The view from the Western window was amazing - clear blue skies and a heart-stopping sheer drop to the stormy waters below. When it was open the most refreshing mountain breeze perfumed the air. Today, the windows were closed to prevent the shredded and cooked herbs, cooling on the sill, from flying away. The room was filled with their exotic, exhilarating smell.

It was a pity that the present occupant was in no position to appreciate it.

The door, an artistically hewn affair with hinges, swung open gently and Padmé tiptoed across the room and straight to the prone figure on the bed. Carefully, she placed her weight on the edge of the bed and studied the recuperating apprentice.

In her sleep, the apprentice lay with her length curled like a comma, instinctively protecting her torso with her knees, while her arms lay stretched out before her, with the spread out fingers of a supplicant.

Even in sleep, her face twisted with pain.

Gently, her throat aching, Padmé curled the fingers, noticing how stiffly they resisted the pressure until they finally yielded and rested limply against the faded blue sheets.

_"…I beg…" _

The words were all but inaudible but they had been repeated so many times in Barriss's sleep that Padmé recognized them.

Padmé's heart welled with pity, and no small quantity of anger at the people - the _person _- who had done this to this child and at the people - the _person _- who had let this happen and who were doing nothing to make things better.

"In good time, my lady."

Padmé's lips had thinned as she stared down Xanatos. He had flinched under her scrutiny but he was not the one she needed to intimidate.

"It is unfair. The child is suffering. She needs more help than I can give her."

"I know but the Grandmaster-"

"I want to speak to Obi-Wan."

"He's … unavailable."

"He's hiding, you mean," Padmé had snapped.

Xanatos's eyes had widened in what may have been outrage or shock. "The Grandmaster will speak to you at the earliest opportunity," he had said sternly.

Padmé had walked away, still smarting.

Thinking back on it now, Padmé reflected on how atavistic the Jedi's need to revere and obey a Superior was. Within days of his decease, the feelings that the Jedi had held for the former Grandmaster had been transferred so completely to Obi-Wan that even a Jedi like Xanatos regarded the far younger Knight with respect bordering on veneration.

Indeed, Padmé thought, the ease of such transition of loyalties was almost repulsive.

The discovery of Barriss had provided and deprived the Guardian of tasks. For the first few days, Barriss's mental health had been so unstable that the hyper-chlorian children who had been smuggled into the cabin had to be hurriedly transferred to another safe location where they would lie low until they could be discreetly transferred to Yavin. The older Jedi were also not immune to Barriss's trauma and only one, Xanatos, elected to remain with the Guardian and her new ward.

Padmé had rejected the option of a hibernation trance - the young apprentice had been so fragile that she could have easily slipped away from trance into death. So in the days that followed, Guardian and Jedi had struggled through cycles of the damaged apprentice's convalescence, nights of nightmare-filled sleep and days of her even more painful awakenings.

_"…I beg…" _Barriss moaned.

"Shhh…" Padmé said soothingly, placing a hand against the Padawan's cold forehead.

It only made Barriss more restless. She shifted in her sleep and cried out softly. Padmé pulled her palm away.

_"No more…" _

"No more, I promise," Padmé said and her voice was thick. "It's over. You're safe."

Inexplicably, the Padawan smiled.

"No one is safe."

Padmé stilled. "Barriss? Are you awake?"

"Are you?"

Padmé gasped. "What did you say?"

The Padawan was silent. Her face had fallen back into pain. The smile might have been an illusion.

Must have been…

Abruptly, Padmé touched the girl's shoulder. She did not stir. Feeling guilty urgency, Padmé poked her a little.

Barriss's fingers stretched out, crawling across the sheets like two dark scorpions.

Slowly, her eyes opened. For a moment, Padmé stared into a pair of familiar greys, then the Padawan blinked and bright blue, sad eyes stared up at the Guardian in confusion.

"My lady," the Padawan said slowly, disorientation passing through and over her face.

"Do you remember where you are, Barriss?" Padmé asked, forcing her voice to sound calmer than she felt.

"Yes… Alderaan…" Her words were still slow, a testimony to the difficulty of speaking with a mouth filled with healing sores. She tried to sit up and winced. Padmé firmly but gently pushed her back into the bed.

"You need to rest. You're still very sore."

Barriss nodded meekly. Her eyes never left Padmé as the Guardian fetched a glass of water from the side jar and made her sniff the herbs cooling by the window. Colour rose in her cheeks.

"How do you feel?"

Much better," she said softly. "When can… return… the Temple?"

"Soon," Padmé said cautiously.

The Padawan's face filled with sadness and she looked down at the sheets covering her.

Padmé reached for her hand. "Barriss…"

The dark fingers rested limply in Padmé's pale grip. "I know… Xanatos thinks… I'm not a spy… plant… anything…."

"I believe you."

The dark hand gripped back and Padmé's throat tightened as she noticed the tightly shut eyes. Her earlier fears had completely vanished, leaving only pity for this poor child.

"I just want…" A few tears squeezed through and without a word, Padmé pulled the girl into her arms. Barriss's next words were in a low wail. "…to go home."

"I know. I promise I'll speak to Obi-Wan. I will convince him."

"Obi-Wan?"

"He is the Grandmaster now."

Barriss stiffened in Padmé's arms for a heartbeat. Then the tears started in earnest. In the younger woman's shock, Padmé once more re-lived the remarkable speed with which events had moved these past few weeks.

She held her ward to her heart, soothing the apprentice as best she could. Over Padmé's shoulders, Barriss's teeth chattered as she struggled against the sobs. And out of old, strange, grey eyes, the tears poured down her cheeks.

_'' _

_Yavin_

The Eastern forest was so thick that the light from the red planet appeared green below. The soft sounds of animals calling to each other colored an otherwise perfect silence.

The well-worn path coiled its way before the Grandmaster's feet, like a serpent guiding him to its den. His mind was elsewhere, dwelling - amongst other things - on a conversation he had just concluded with the Guardian.

"So how is she?"

"Healing and wanting desperately to return home."

"And she has no idea why she was returned to us?"

"No, nor any idea why she was not rescued."

At his continued silence, the Guardian had burst out: "Obi-Wan, this is ridiculous. The Sith… Vader was on Yavin. He escaped from Yavin. If you're afraid of Barriss betraying the location of the Temple, then you're mistaken because there's _nothing _to betray."

"And you've not wondered why that is so?"

"Why what is so?"

"Why Vader has done nothing? Why the Empire has done nothing?"

The Guardian had shrugged, her lashes lowering a few seconds too late.

The Grandmaster, whose own eyes missed nothing, had merely said: "It's like your own face. Everyone else but you will ever see it truthfully. And your image of yourself is a reflection, a lie that you carry in your head until your death."

The Guardian had stared. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"We will come for the hyper-chlorian children soon. But the Padawan remains with you for a little longer."

"Wha - How much longer? And don't change the subject either. I hate it when you speak like-"

"The Grandmaster? But I am. Why did you ask 'how much longer', my lady?"

"What?"

"Just now. You asked how much longer would the Padawan remain with you."

Her eyelashes had fluttered again. "I did?" She had looked at him sharply and known that he knew that she had betrayed herself.

_I am the Grandmaster. I know everything. _

After he had terminated the link, he had stared at the hazy after-glow of the holo-transmitter and smiled.

Bitterly.

_If only. _

He walked on. The green deepened. The animal voices changed as the nocturnal ones began to wake.

_'' _

_Is he ready? _

_'' _

_Alderaan_

The landing repulsors screeched in protest at the sharp, almost 90o descent of the vehicle and the still rational part of Vader's mind noted the near crash with a grim sense of déjà vu.

With one swift jump, he was out of the cockpit and striding across Alderaanian soil, not even breaking stride for the small retinue of docking staff that approached him. A quick shove sent most sliding across the ground. His identification and authorization established, they stayed out of his way.

_"This is not the way." _

Vader all but snarled out loud at the pernicious snagging. _'That's what you think! __If he touches one hair of her head…' _

_"He won't. Not this Time. He has learnt his lesson. Palpatine is no fool." _

_'I don't care. I won't risk it.' _

_"You're looking for excuses." _

_'Yes, I am! I want her. I want her. I want her. I can't wait any longer. I won't wait any longer!!' _

_"Not by grasping. You've learnt this. The more you tighten your grip, the more easily she will slip through your fingers." _

"Shut Up!" He roared, tears filling his eyes and people fell to their knees as his rage echoed through the Force. His heart was so full, he felt it would burst. He almost hoped it would, and rid him of this Curse.

It was too much, inhuman even. No one could ever have been asked to bear this much. No one should be expected to…

Blessedly, there was silence.

He stopped moving long enough to temper the storming whirlpool of emotions within him. Then he started running.

_'' _

The wooden building had been built right into the cliff face of the mountain. A long climb up a well-worn path, and Alderaan in all its purple and green glory was spread out before her. Padmé placed her sandaled foot

_(the bruises had never faded)_

gingerly on the very edge, weighing the possibility. The wind cried in her ears, making her hair fly out behind her in long, dark ribbons. Slowly, she stepped back, one pace, then another, and sank cross-legged to the ground. Her hands folded across her belly and she locked her fingers, imagining that there was something within she was keeping warm.

The sense of isolation was heavenly. The constant presence of Xanatos, dogging her every step only when she was not keeping the Padawan company (as her own brethren avoided her) was wearing Padmé's nerves thin. She had always worked in perfect freedom, only contacting the Jedi when she had recovered a child or in the rare occasion when she needed help with a particularly difficult situation.

Freedom was one of the few possessions she owned. The loss of it in any form was intolerable.

_Padmé. _

Cease.

The fierce wind. Her own breath. Even the sun.

Vanished.

Darkness. Absence of sensation. The non-existence of everything but the Call.

_Padmé_.

It had taken him long enough.

Then the sun came out and she was alone on the mountain. If she stared hard enough, and she did, she could make out the red craft vanishing within the clouds.

Desolation.

_'' _

_Is he ready? _

_… _

_Perhaps. _

_'' _

_Blue, blue eyes look at you through the flames. The air is so dry that you feel your skin baking. _

_The skin at the corners of those blue eyes is broken and bleeding. _

_"There's nothing to be afraid of." _

_The old lie slips naturally from your lips. _

_The child does not believe. Tears and blood streak down his cheeks as he slowly drags his feet across the yellow, yellow sand. _

_This time the boy holds out twice as long before the screams break out. _

_He tries to run but your hand is already there, hard and implacable on his neck. You keep him in the fire and watch the red veins glow in his pale, pale face. You keep him in the fire until the fire is coming from within him. _

_"Pain is a tool. You must learn to use it." _

_You keep him in the fire until he has learnt his lesson. _

_'' _

_Yavin_

The Grandmaster stumbled and for a moment, the green moss of Yavin IV had dissolved into sand, and the hand that kept him from falling did not rest on a perennial's bark but on the slender neck of a small boy.

Then he blinked.

It was late evening on the moon and the swollen planet was already sinking, a red globe falling beyond the horizon. He watched its descent, his eyes fixing on the speck of planetary matter that seemed to have broken away from the globe and was now inexplicably falling towards the moon's lesser gravity.

A speck of planetary matter that not only defied gravity but moved in the air as if it was being ridden by a mad man or a devil.

_Which_, the Grandmaster admitted, watching that 'speck' draw nearer and nearer to his home, _was not so far from the truth_.

_'' _

_There is nothing more he can learn from me. _

**_

* * *

_** **_tbc_**


	31. Rage

_Hi! Thanks to all of you for being patient with me during the long hiatus. I'm really sorry for the delay but I hope this new chapter was worth the wait. _

**Kaleidoscope **

* * *

**31, Rage**

_Yavin_

The red ship crashed through the moon's atmosphere, engines roaring.

The Grandmaster watched its almost vertical approach, not flinching at the little sparks of fire that lit in its wake as the superheated hull smashed over the forest canopy at break neck speed, static sizzling as it bounced to the sparse glade. Its repulsors screeched as the monster craft swerved on the cushion of air between it and the ground, spinning once then flying in a straight line towards… him.

Inches from the Grandmaster's motionless frame, the engine gave one last, furious shout and the vessel halted. Steam hissed out of its sides in a long sigh.

Moments before the craft had halted, the pilot had jumped out of the cockpit, breathing as hard and as hotly as his ship.

One look at the Sith and Obi-Wan instinctively reached for the cylinder on his waist. His blade had barely opened in his hand when he went flying across the glade. Only the presence of mind that made him switch off the weapon prevented him from impaling himself.

Instead, all he suffered was the possibility of a broken back.

The Sith loomed over him, his black cloak flapping wildly in the windless evening.

"Welcome back," the Jedi croaked conversationally from the tangle of shrubs he had landed in. "I take it you missed me…"

The Jedi went flying into the air. This time he called on the Force, and the hard impact against the tree and the sharp descent to the ground did no more than rattle his teeth badly.

He spat out pieces of leaves that had somehow flown into his mouth and said to the darkening sky. "I take it not."

Vader's roar was the only answer he got. Suddenly, he was before him, his eyes blazing like fire.

The Jedi's hand came up at once, and the sudden sense of pseudo-gravity that had sent his body flying before ceased.

"Enough," he snapped. "We can be at this all day. Be reasonable and ex…"

Reason and Vader were not seeing eye to eye at that moment. His eyes seemed to burn brighter and then Obi-Wan felt his grip on the Force slip.

"Uh-oh," he murmured as once more, his body left the ground and went crashing into the forest.

So much for a relaxing, meditative evening stroll.

_'' _

_On the bridge of the Executor_

At the bridge of his flagship, the freshly minted Emperor stood still as a statue, his gloved hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the blue-green world that dominated the viewscreen. Hovering above it was a moon too perfectly spherical to be formed by nature.

_Where are you?_

A discreet cough behind him drew him out of his pensive thoughts.

He cocked his head, a silent permission for the Captain to step forward.

"My Lord, the primary weapon has been powered up."

"Any word from Organa?"

"No, my Lord." The Captain coughed again.

The Emperor deigned to turn his head slowly, very slowly until his eyes rested on the Captain's pale face.

"Were your instructions not clear?"

The bone bobbed painfully in the Captain's throat. "They were, my Lord."

The Emperor stared at the man and imagined turning him into ashes with his thought. Perhaps the Captain saw something in the other's gaze because he then coughed again, and bowed respectfully.

"As my Emperor commands," he whispered and left to carry out his orders.

Vader's gaze returned to Alderaan and his thoughts to his inner demons.

_'And if she is there?' _One whispered to him.

_She is not,_ he retorted.

_'This can never be the way,' _Another seemed to say.

_She leaves me no choice. _

_'There is always a choice.'_

The words echoed in his mind as he watched the bright, blinding, ultra-concentrated laser beam erupt from the artificial satellite and pierce the planet. They echoed in his heart as he 'lived' through the thousand and one natural disasters that ended and began in that moment of cessation. A thousand earthquakes, splitting the tectonic plates into fragments. A thousand tsunamis as the oceans was unleashed and covered the falling mountains. A thousand storms of hail and lightning as the very atmosphere crashed onto the planet's surface.

The words echoed in his soul as in the Force, he lived through the deaths of the billions he had just killed.

_She leaves me no choice! _he proclaimed defiantly.

'_Then why do you justify yourself?' _

_'' _

_Tatooine_

They poured out of the cracks in the night like human-shaped serpents.

One moment, she was in a dreamless sleep, her breathing in rhythm with the strong beating beneath her palm.

The next moment, she had fallen out of that sleep and into a world filled with smoke, blood and the cold sounds of death.

Her eyes had barely made out the moonless sky and the fading glow of the night fire when long limbs wrapped around her and squeezed her lungs.

"Anikin!" She tried to say but there was no air in her lungs. Her legs reached out to kick and collided with something that screamed, then they were held as fiercely as the arms that were being pulled behind her back.

She twisted her body to use her teeth and she caught cloth, tattered and smelly like rags. Then her hair was pulled so hard, her neck almost snapped and she was dragged to her feet.

Snapping and snarling, she was forced down to her knees, and she felt the biting rope wrapped around her hands.

"Anikin!" She screamed. Her breath had come back. "Anikin!"

There was no answer. No sound. No sense…

"What have you bastards done to him?" She cursed, thrashing helplessly against her attackers. They yanked at her bonds and her knees dragged against the sand, scraping painfully.

They gave her no reply, or perhaps she just could not understand the bastard tongue they spoke. She could make them out a little now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The occasional glint of a blade… Biped bodies, human-enough looking… But their faces… Stars, their faces!

_I'm imagining things. This is a dream… this must be a dream…_

Goggle-shaped eyes. A snout where a nose should have been. Nothing _human_.

Intrinsic horror filled her and she screamed and screamed and screamed.

She was almost grateful when one of them struck her and she fell forward, gasping as the hysteria left her. They pulled her back roughly.

"What have you done…?" She rasped. "What do you want?"

They roared something at her and she wondered how she could make them understand.

_Make what understand, Padmé? These are not human… they are not 'creatures'… Irrational beasts, monsters. They've killed him and eaten him and now they'll kill you and your ch..._

"Answer me!" She shouted. "What do you want from us?"

There was silence. At first, she thought that she had somehow made them understand. Their frantic, painful tugging at her bonds ceased. She could see them well enough to realize that they were all standing, staring at her…

…at something beyond her.

The darkness muted into dark red flame.

Then they moved as one. With loud, bloodcurdling cries, their weapons swinging in their hands, they rushed around and over her, all but trampling her in their hurry to get to whatever… whoever was behind her…

She crawled to safety, the urge, the need to protect stronger than the fear that was ballooning, cold and vacuum-like inside her.

_Don't look back. Don't look back. Your hands first. Get your hands free…_

She crawled backwards, towards the melee. The cries were getting both louder and smaller, as if numbers were reducing as intensity was increasing. She dragged her hands as low behind her back as she could, almost falling over in the process, as she felt the sand for a fallen weapon that she could use. The flame of light was a dancing star, casting as many shadows as it dispelled. Her hands collided with mud, blood-watered sand. She scooped handfuls, awkwardly throwing the stuff back on her wrists. She tugged at her ropes and, now slippery, they yielded somewhat.

Meanwhile, the cries became louder, smaller...

Something hit her back and she gasped, in pain and in disappointment that she was discovered. Then the thing fell to the ground by her side and she stared into the head of one of her captors. The rest of its body had gone.

She was too numb to be horrified.

By the time she had worked her hands free, the only sounds she heard were her own harsh breaths.

_'' _

_Yavin_

Obi-Wan had been tossed around the forest five times and was certain of at least one broken bone, when reinforcements came in.

A pair of scooters swooped in on the duo. Each scooter flown by a Jedi with one hand on the wheel and one hand around an open lightsabre.

"Circle. Entrap!" shouted the leader, Bruck.

The Sith stopped roaring at Obi-Wan long enough to roar at the newcomers. The two scooters collided and exploded. The ball of flame rose, landed on the trees and the forest was on fire.

The two Jedi had just jumped out in the nick of time.

"That's enough!" roared the Grandmaster. "That's enough!" The fear he had not felt for himself – the Sith was mad, not stupid after all – was real for his people.

Vader turned on him, his eyes narrowed dangerously, his black form silhouetted against the rapidly moving fire.

"If you want me to help you, then you'll have to start acting rationally!"

"What makes you think that you'll have a choice?" Vader hissed, the first words he had spoken since his unorthodox arrival on Yavin.

"It's not my choice, Vader," the Grandmaster spat. "It's yours and you already made it when you came here."

The Sith took a menacing step toward him but the Jedi held his ground.

It was Vader that broke the stare.

"Fine," Obi-Wan said into the silence that followed. "Fine." He added ostentatiously.

In a few moments, a speeder arrived on the scene. The two would-be rescuers were boarded first, and gently, then the Grandmaster. Jedi Bruck gave the Sith a suspicious look, then he offered a trembling hand.

From the way Vader stared at the offered hand, he was probably considering spitting on it then setting it on fire.

"He came with his own craft," Obi-Wan said hastily as he pulled Bruck in.

The Jedi craft lifted off, leaving the black-robed and faceless sword-man where he stood in the eye of an inferno.

* * *

_**tbc**_


	32. Appeasement

**Kaleidoscope **

* * *

**32, Appeasement**

_Tatooine_

He didn't want her to see the carnage but not even he could hide smoke. She watched the black balloons rising into the cloudless sky and waited for him to come to her.

It took him three days. He wore no hood. His lean, scarred visage loomed over her when she woke in the middle of the night. Then he fell to her feet.

Her throat tightened. "To hate you would be to hate myself, Anikin - Anakin."

He looked up, his half-marred face haunted.

She smiled bitterly. "I think I always knew... I just didn't want to admit it to myself." There was a tense silence, then she added almost as an afterthought, "and I know your other name as well, Va-"

"No!" He shouted hoarsely. "That is no longer my name."

"What name did you bear that night?" There was no accusation in her, just resignation.

_He did it for me, after all. Those corpses were his gift to me. _

"I was trying to protect you," he whispered, confirming her worst fears, as always his voice painful through his wounded thorax.

_And I… if I could,_ _I would have done the same. _

She felt no pity for the ones he killed that night. Why then feel pity for the ones he killed before? Or the ones he will kill after?

She imagined herself comforting him, absolving both him and herself. She imagined him leaving her arms to wreck more havoc – this time in her name.

His blue eyes filled with misery. _I would do anything for you_, they told her, _but don't ask me to fight against my own nature. _

She turned her face away, stared fixedly at the horizon. _Don't ask me to fight against mine. _

She waited until he left her.

Then she wept.

''

_Somewhere…_

She heard the news in the local cantina, her low hood and artistically tattooed hands sufficient cover for her to blend in seamlessly with the denizens of that area. She left almost immediately, too deeply affected to adhere to the strict dictates of her low profile. Stumbling all the way through the dark alleys that led to her hired rooms, she made it into the dingy room and adjoining 'fresher in time to retch the bile that had filed her body.

_Your fault… your fault… your fault…_

"No!" She cried and retched some more. "No! Not mine. His, not mine."

"Go back."

She jumped, startled, and looked up at the person who had entered the room. For one crazy moment, Padmé thought she was sitting next to her dead grandmother. Then she blinked and it was just the old, cleaning lady with her cleaning droid. Padmé had left the door open and the woman had just walked right in. Fear crept into her heart.

She was getting careless. It was almost as if ---

_you want him to find you..._

_No! _

"Wherever it is you're running from, honey, it can't be as bad as this place," the old lady said sagely as she turned on the droid and walked briskly about the room.

A few weeks ago, Padmé would have humoured the lady with either a frosty glare or a fake sob story. A few weeks ago was practically another lifetime. The former Guardian stared down at her painted hands, a disconcerting contrast against the rusted taps, and fought back despair.

A hand rested tentatively on her back. A small touch of comfort and to her horror, Padmé felt the tears well up within her.

"A woman in your condition needs someone to take care of her."

It was those words more than anything that brought Padmé back to her senses.

Her condition. The condition he put her in. She'd be damned if she let him have his way in everything.

She lifted her head and stared into the old woman's kind face. "I can take care of myself just fine, ma'am."

The old woman sighed, a frown forming between her grey eyes, then she turned back to her work.

''

_Alderaan_

"You rescued me."

Padmé looked up from the tome to Barriss' dark eyes. The apprentice was awake.

"No, I did not," she said honestly. "Can't you… what do you remember about how you came back to us?"

"I remember," Barriss said and there was something in her voice that forbade further questioning.

Padmé was not about to try where Xanatos had failed repeatedly. The older Jedi had not been able to get any information from the apprentice regarding the circumstances of her captivity except that she wanted to be returned to Yavin immediately. Despite all Padmé's efforts and to her great fury, Obi-Wan had refused.

The sight of Barriss shivering violently interrupted her thoughts. Instinctively, Padmé offered her the herbs and Barriss sniffed obediently. Above the bed frame, the blue-green landscape of the Alderaan mountains beckoned through the tightly shut windows.

"_You _were the reason I was returned. You know that, don't you?"

Padmé's hand, in the process of returning the clay vessel back to the sill, shook so badly that some of the precious herbs scattered to the floor.

She ignored them, her eyes on the girl. "Barriss… did…" The apprentice stared at her with that strange, knowing expression in those dark eyes. Padmé swallowed, tried again. "Tell me why they sent you back."

"Not they," Barriss' words were uncharacteristically hard. "He."

"He." Padmé whispered the word, all but breathed it, the superstition she had never felt suddenly taking hold of her.

"They'd never have come for me. They'd have left me there to die."

They. The Jedi.

"They would have tried to save you eventually," Padmé said sharply although she really had no idea if that was true.

"They didn't wait to save _you_," Barriss said bitterly. "They didn't think you were a spy."

"That's because I was never in captivity," Padmé said gently.

"You were in captivity for as long as I was! Force, you were his..."

The clay jar fell to the floor and shattered. Padmé and Barriss stared at each other in shock.

"How did I escape?" Barriss whispered. There was a strangeness in her face, a look of fear, of confusion.

"You didn't..."

"No, of course not! _You_ did. You left me…"

"I didn't _escape_. Neither of us did," Padmé said. She took a deep breath, her eyes as wary as Barriss', then she plunged on. "He let me go... Then he killed the Emperor."

"Of course, of course. I remember now." She had closed her eyes and was speaking softly as if thinking out loud. "You didn't come back and now, he's destroying everything to find you."

"That's not my fault," Padmé snapped.

"You like telling yourself that, don't you? It's never your fault. It wasn't your fault that I was tortured for trying to protect you. Or that the Jedi who came to rescue you were killed."

Padmé flinched.

"Nor that Obi-Wan was tortured to death."

"Barriss..."

"It's not your fault that worlds are being disseminated because the Emperor can't find his little whore."

"Enough!"

In the silence that followed, the torn petals on the floor seemed to fill the room with bitterness.

"What would you have me do?" Padmé asked. She didn't even know whom she was asking the question of. She only knew she desperately needed an answer. "I never asked for this..."

"There is one thing you could do. One thing only you could do," Barriss whispered, her eyes still shut.

"What?"

"You know what. And you'd never do it. You like it too much, don't you? You like the sense of power it gives you. You've considered his offer. You've been tempted by it."

"I didn't take it. I refused..."

"And people are dying because of that. How does that make you feel, Padmé Naberrie? Even more powerful? That's your weakness, isn't it?"

"How…?"

"Little lost orphan." The words came out like a rhyme. "No mother and father. Dead sister. Things you didn't understand controlling your life. Why did you become a Guardian, Padmé? Because you wanted the power to Make Things Better?"

"No! Yes! I mean..."

"Don't lie. I can see into your heart. I saw it the first time I laid eyes on you."

Padmé started then, the pain and confusion within her melting into... something else.

Barriss was still speaking in that singsong voice. Her eyes had opened, and those piercing greys seemed to bore into Padmé's soul. "What's the hunted without the hunter? He defines you. It's all about power. We all want it. We do the things we do for it. All of us. Even you."

The Guardian recoiled.

"What. Are. You?"

Barriss smirked. Then she blinked and blue eyes stared at Padmé in surprise.

''

_Tatooine_

It was another three days before he returned to her. But the important thing was that he did.

Because after four days, she would have returned to him.

He sank wordlessly to his knees beside her and stretched out his hand. The black, cylindrical handgrip felt unnaturally heavy in her hand. She wondered if it ate the souls of the bodies it slew.

She placed it as far away from her as possible.

He watched her with an indescribable expression on his face. His hand was still outstretched, open, fragile fresh, a stark contrast to the black weapon he wielded, to the darkened husk of his other hand.

She took his hand in her own, then placed it against the thickening flesh of her abdomen.

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to my dear beta **_Fialleril_**. 

**Disclaimer:** Although I wrote the conversation between Barriss and Padmé, I do not condone the belief that Barriss expressed that the victim of an abusive relationship or indeed, that the wife/girl-friend/lover of a violent man is in anyway to blame for her partner's actions regards of the motives he has for doing them. Fundamentally, everyone is accountable for his or her own actions.

Thank you, **wayliz**, **JediKnight13**, **naturekid** and **iri-heartagram** for your kind reviews! It was so exciting seeing some new faces in the mix.


	33. En Passant

**Kaleidoscope **

* * *

**33, _En Passant _**

_Yavin _

The Temple of Yavin, the sanctuary of generations of Knights from the renegade Jedi Order, was under occupation. But this was not by an Imperial Admiral and his fleet of Destroyers nor was it by a curse of the Emperor's Own Hands.

The Temple was occupied by something much worse.

"Master, how long do you intend us to expect Lord Vader to remain amongst us?"

It was amusing, the Grandmaster noted. Months – no, mere weeks ago – Aurra would have spoken her mind to Obi-Wan and demanded the Sith Lord's immediate exit (or execution, whichever was more expedient) without a second thought. Now that her old sparring partner was Grandmaster, she chose her words with such ridiculous care, he wondered if this was how the Hands addressed the Emperor.

"As long as he needs to find what he's looking for."

He wondered – hoped – that she'd dare to ask him what that was.

She did not.

"You accuse the Empire of tyranny and yet the Grandmaster cannot be challenged by his minions."

The fact that the very thought had just occurred to him only served to irritate Obi-Wan further. "The difference between your accursed Order and ours is too vast for you to begin to understand," he snapped.

Vader smirked, clearly aware that he had touched a nerve, and continued his bland observation of the training ground from the Northern window in the Grandmaster's study.

In the garden below, a group of nine-to-thirteen year-olds practised their katas, shivering a little in the afternoon sun under the close supervision of a rather nervy Knight Asajj. Every Jedi on Yavin had been painfully aware of the Sith from the moment he had returned, crashing through the atmosphere and invading their home. It certainly had not helped matters that Vader had shown up at the Temple not long after their Grandmaster had returned from his meditative stroll hobbling painfully in the midst of an armed escort of Jedi.

However, his presence was made tolerable by the fact that his Dark side aura was less overwhelming than before. After hours of the med centre being besieged by sick younglings and youths, Obi-Wan had, without much hope, entreated Vader to shield. Much to the Jedi's surprise, Vader had condescended to do so.

Perhaps the old Master's plan might just still work.

Or perhaps the Sith Lord had merely shown up on Yavin to recruit a new apprentice.

Abruptly, Obi-Wan reached forward and tugged on the curtains, and the window became a blank piece of cloth, shielding the group of Younglings from Vader's view.

Vader blinked. "I can still see them, you know," he murmured. He was still smirking.

"You didn't come here to watch young Jedi in training."

"Didn't I?" He turned to look at the Jedi and his unpleasant smile broadened.

Obi-Wan stared back, feeling his own impatience and a certain native fear rising as he stood before the Sith Lord and resisted the urge to reach for his lightsabre.

Instead, he asked, "Have you decided yet?"

Vader broke the stare, turned his eyes to the vacant curtain. A spike of something lethal broke out of his aura and was sternly dampened.

"The longer you spend thinking about it, the longer she is exposed…"

"Do not remind me, Jedi," he growled.

"You need reminding," Obi-Wan said waspishly. "If you're considering any of your schemes, you know how well they end up-"

His speech halted as abruptly as his air supply.

"I hate repetitions. They grate on my nerves."

As suddenly as he had struck, the Sith withdrew. Obi-Wan gasped, choking and annoyed at himself as Vader began to furiously pace the panelled floor of the study.

"What madness am I considering? Allying myself with you incompetent Jedi?" He muttered in a voice that carried clearly.

"I…If the Guardian means as much to you as you claim-" This time Obi-Wan was ready, and he stepped out from that malevolent reach just in time. "Then you needn't ask these questions."

Vader halted his pacing and his attempt to choke the Jedi long enough to glare at Obi-Wan.

"How long have you been planning this, Jedi? From when I was brought here? No," he said quickly, correcting himself. He tilted his head in thought, his skin paling. "Even earlier. When I first met you on Coruscant."

Something on Obi-Wan's face must have given the Jedi away.

Vader had turned ash-white. "How long?" He whispered the question with the deadly poisonous quietness of a threatening snake.

It was the Jedi's turn to smirk. And he answered the Sith.

Seconds later, the North window shattered as the body of the Grandmaster was sent flying through it. With screams and cries, the children scattered like frightened ducklings.

Asajj was running to the Master's side. "Obi-Wan!" she cried. He reached for her desperately but he was too late. Her green blade was lit in her hand and she had put herself between him and the swooping black Sith that had followed him to the ground.

Nothing comes between a Sith Lord and his vengeance.

A flash of red. Asajj's lightsabre rolled out of her grip and deactivated as her body fell back into his arms.

The lush green grass crimsoned beneath her feet. The life had left her body as swiftly as the Sith's blade had entered.

"No! _No!_"

The Sith's laughter was cold and cruel and merciless. "Not for the Emperor. Not for the Empire. Not for you, Jedi.

"I have not, am not nor shall I ever be anyone's pawn."

Obi-Wan was on the ground, the white sleeves of his robes red with Asajj's blood. He barely heard the Sith, barely heard the cries and the sounds of flying feet coming out of the Temple. Barely felt the confusion and pain and rage coming from within and without him in the Force. Barely heard his own words as he spoke without thinking: "You will do as we wish, whether you will or not."

Vader snarled, literally baring his teeth like a wild animal and the Jedi cowered at the unleashed malevolence of his aura.

Then he was gone.

''

At dusk, Asajj's brethren burnt her body in the same spot where she had been so senselessly murdered.

As the red planet set over Yavin, the Jedi watched the flames take her body and they also watched their Grandmaster as he stood pale and stern and emotionless at the head of their assembly.

And the Jedi feared.

---tbc---

* * *

_En Passant - French. A move played in Chess during which a pawn which has been moved into a supposedly 'safe' position is still captured 'in passing'. _

_Literal meaning: incidentally; in the course of doing something else._

_Thank you, **iri-heartagram****, ILDV, mlhkvh5, naturekid, JediKnight13** and **Naberrie Skyler **(hi you!) for your kind reviews!_


	34. The Changeling

_A/N: I am so sorry for the long delay in updating. I have been suffering from Writers' Block on this story due to some personal life crises that came to a head at the start of the New Year._

_This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend and beta **fialleril**._

* * *

**Chapter 34, Changeling**

_When she was sixteen, she met Dooku for the first time. A midget before his towering height, she stared him down, her brown eyes seeming to duel with his grey piercing ones, until Winama broke the uncomfortable silence. _

_"Master Dooku, this is my granddaughter." _

_He did not smile. "We've already met. And you may call me Grandmaster." _

_"May I be excused?" Padmé asked bluntly. _

_"Padmé!" Winama cried. The girl flashed her grandmother a look of resentment then walked out of the room, the curtains in the passageway dancing in her wake. Winama turned to Dooku helplessly. "I thought it would be a good idea. She said she wanted to help." Her voice became imploring. "She's not a threat, I promise."_

_Dooku gave the curtains a thoughtful look, his inner eye following Padmé's furious steps as she walked through the house. "I know she's not. I bring back bad memories." He smiled a little. "And she didn't like the way I looked at her."_

--

_Like she was a tool he was figuring out how best to use. _

--

Barriss's screams cut through the night and she tried to throw herself out of the bed. Xanatos' strong arms were barely enough to restrain her as she thrashed desperately against him.

"Hurry!" he cried.

"I'm coming!" cried Padmé, as she rushed into the room, a candle in one hand and the vial in the other. "Hold still!"

Barriss' dark eyes glimpsed the familiar green fluid and her efforts re-doubled. The candle barely escaped being flung out of Padmé's hand.

"Barriss..." the Guardian said soothingly.

_No more! Please, no more! _

Xanatos winced at the cries only he could hear. Barriss, who had until then been all but screaming blood, had clamped her lips shut.

"I'm sorry," Padmé whispered and placed the flame of the candle under Barriss' chin.

Her mouth opened in a wail and with one swift motion, the green vial was thrown in.

--

Her lids were gummed together. They pried apart slowly, soft light filtering through reluctantly.

The room looked like if a storm had hit it. Furniture upended, her own bed strangely aligned beneath her. The windows were tightly shut. The tiniest bit of wax burnt by a ledge near the open door and she could make out the dim figures of the Guardian and Jedi Xanatos.

'_I'll be fine...'_

'_What if she wakes up worse...'_

'_She won't. I've made sure of that.'_

'_What do you--?'_

Xanatos cut himself short and turned back to the room. His eyes froze on Barriss' face and he walked towards her warily.

"Barriss? Are you OK?"

"I am," she whispered through a throat that was strangely painful. "What happened? Were we attacked?"

"You had a nightmare," the Guardian said from the doorway.

Barriss tried to sit up and Xanatos was at her side, helping her. She reached for him and realized two things - one, that her hands were fastened to the bed with long ropes. Two - that when she reached for him in the Force, she felt --

nothing.

"What -?" she cried in alarm.

He tensed, then relaxed when he realized what was going on. "You've been neutralized momentarily. Your nightmare made you violent. You almost killed yourself and when we tried to stop you, you attacked us."

Her heart quailed. "Oh no."

"What were you dreaming about?"

Barriss shook her head in numb horror.

"Barriss, try and remember. The Grandmaster said it would be important."

"I can't... I'm sorry I can't..."

"Leave her be, Xanatos." The Guardian said.

Xanatos turned to her impatiently. "This could be important."

"Not important enough. She'll remember when she's ready." There was something in her voice that made Barriss look at her sharply. The Guardian still stood by the door, a small pale figure in black from head to toe. Her eyes - her face - was unreadable and Barriss could not touch her aura.

"You've had a bad night, Barriss," she said now. "Get some rest. We'll tidy up your room - and your dreams - tomorrow."

There was a frown on Xanatos' face as he carefully helped her lie back, smoothing the rumpled sheets over her. When he tried to stand up, Barriss grabbed his hand and he looked down at her in surprise.

"Don't," she began - then stopped.

"What is it?" He asked.

Barriss swallowed, battling with embarrasment and need before -

"She doesn't want to be left alone," the Guardian said. Barriss opened her mouth to protest - that wasn't entirely correct - but then the Guardian looked at Barriss with that unreadable face and Barriss fell silent.

"I'll stay then," Xanatos said at once.

"No, you won't. You, too, have had a long night and we all need your strength -" he began to speak and she cut him off - "especially the children. Someone needs to go to the cabin and stay with them. I'll stay."

He hesitated.

"I won't untie her, if that will make you feel better."

Barriss jerked sharply. She had forgotten her bonds. She stared at the ropes on her wrists and ankles with revulsion.

Reluctantly, Xanatos conceded. Barriss gripped his hand tightly but he gently, yet firmly, he pulled away, giving her a last careful nod.

She looked down at the hand that had held his. They looked empty and small. She couldn't feel him at all in the Force and now she couldn't feel anything with her hand.

She looked up and saw that the Guardian had entered the room and was setting an upended chair back on its legs. She plucked the candle from the door ledge and placed it against the window. As she settled down by Barriss' bedside, Barriss could make out the expression on her face.

Barriss's empty hands began to shake.

--

"What happened to the children?"

"Your nightmares were contagious. They were taken away."

Brown hands wrung desperately against the cream bedcovers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Padmé reached for them, covering them with her own. "It's not your fault."

And the worse thing was that it was the truth. Barriss was less to blame than Padmé herself. And that fact only made what she was about to do even worse. She folded her hands back into her own lap.

"There are excellent healers on Yavin. I'm sure they can help heal the wounds in your body and your mind."

The sadness on the Padawan's face melted. "There's nothing wrong with my mind. I'm not a brainwashed spy."

"You poor child," Padmé said quietly. She got up from her chair and perched herself gingerly on the edge of Barriss' bed. She touched one of the younger girl's hand tentatively. After a moment, Barriss returned the grip, holding onto Padme's hand tightly.

"You will help me, won't you?" The girl pleaded. "You will convince Obi-Wan that I'm safe, that I can go back home to Yavin?"

"I promise I will try my best."

"You're the only one who believes me."

"I know you're not a spy, Barriss. I fear you're something much worse." She plucked the candle from the window ledge and for the second time that evening, held it against Barriss' chin.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered against the girl's screams. Instinct sent the Padawan reaching out of the bed, but she was stopped by the loose yet strong ropes of cord that held her to the frame. She jerked her face out of the reach of the flame and Padmé reached for it, gripping her chin firmly so the candle almost licked both Barriss' cheek and Padmé's own hand. Her eyes squeezed shut and moisture pushed past her lashes.

"Stop! Stop! Are you crazy?"

"Just very determined."

"Xanatos will come..."

"He's in a cabin on the other side of this mountain. The windows are tightly shut. And he can't hear you through the Force."

The tears were flowing freely now. "Oh Stars! Oh please! Not again! Not again!" She screamed as the flame touched her ear, almost catching her long hair. "Help! Help! Why won't someone help me?"

"I'm sorry, Barriss... I'm so sorry..." Padmé whispered, her hand shaking so badly, wax fell on her wrist.

"Why are you doing this? Arrgh!"

"It's the only way."

"Arrrgh! Arrgh! Please!"

"Come out!" Padmé shouted. " I want to speak to you!"

"You don't have the guts to kill her!"

Padmé yanked the flame away and Barriss' brown eyes flew open. "Please... please..."

With a muttered curse, Padmé grabbed a fistful of the girl's hair and held the candle right against her forehead. Barriss screamed, closing her eyes.

"Come out!"

"What will you do?" Barriss shouted. "Kill her? You can't touch me. I'm already dead!"

"But you still feel pain!"

"I've felt worse, you stupid woman! I was trained by a Sith Master himself. You think this is pain!"

"Oh yes, I think it is," Padmé whispered, holding the flame closer and feeling Barriss's head struggling against her hand. "There's no Force to douse it, is there? No channel to pass it on to someone else... Without your Force, you hyperchlorians are weaker than the rest of us."

"Them vs. us? Your loyalties are very undefined, Jedi-Keeper!"

"That's your mistake, isn't it?" Padmé hissed. "I won't be a pawn in your game anymore, Grandmaster."

Barriss's lashes flew open. Grey eyes filled with hate and mockery stared back at Padmé. "You think I am _Dooku?_ That traitor?"

If she hadn't already made that mistake, Padmé would have let the changeling go in her shock. Instead, her fist curled tighter through Barriss' hair, twisting the girl's head back on her neck. "What are you if not Grandmaster Dooku? Another Grandmaster?"

Laughter poured out of Barriss' mouth.

Padmé resisted the urge to douse it with the fire and brought the flame a centimeter nearer. The laughter effectively ended.

"You have no idea with what or with whom you are dealing with."

"Answer me!"

The thing speaking with Barriss's face and mouth groaned. "If you kill your Jedi, I won't be able to answer your questions, will I?"

"What. Are. You?" Padmé stared it down, brown eyes into grey and tried to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

Just how far would she have to go?

It looked away first. Behind Barriss' lashes, grey eyes narrowed into slits.

"Enough. You win for now. You will get your answers, Jedi-Keeper. And you will pay for them. I promise you."

* * *

_To Be Continued._


	35. Paradox

**Chapter 35, Paradox**

_The task is simple enough. Infiltrate the aliens' camp; escape detection; and bring back the Chief's head as a prize before the other Hands. It is an assassin's test – a test of stealth. Anakin despises these tests._

_He regards Darra Thel-Tanis's determined face, Tru Veld's thoughtful one, and Ferus Olin's greedy one and resolves to win on his own terms._

_''_

_Tatooine_

The first Sand Dwarf appeared a few days after the attack on their small camp.

Warily, Anakin watched the creature's approach, Padmé's remembered words in his head, unwilling to strike but knowing he would do anything to defend her… _them_.

But the Sand Dwarf – or Jawa, as he learnt later – was an emissary of peace, not war. A small offering was made – a hydro-spanner. It was outdated, barely serviceable and in their present circumstances, completely invaluable. He was still examining it with pleasure when the Jawa shuffled away into the sand.

Across the vast, empty sands of Tatooine, the Force lived unfiltered, and he had always been aware of the others, the watchers in the dunes. The attack had not been a surprise but the peace offering was.

Another day, he watched from a mesa as Padmé traded dispensable metal from the wreckage for thread and curved nails, bantha skins for soft cotton. That night, he found the beginnings of a baby's frock in their bed.

He worried about her – _them_. The haven of the desert was an illusion. On one side, there were enemies, waiting for any sign of weakness to raid, to avenge. On the other side were allies, after a fashion. He knew the Jawas' loyalty would only last for as long as his and Padmé's usefulness.

Permanence was not an option.

With the right parts from the Jawas, enough of the ship could be salvaged to make a new one. But it would take many months, and time was not on Padmé's side.

He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, resting against his own. After weeks of wondering at the strange Doubling of her aura, he was amazed at how rapidly she was showing.

Where would they go?

To Coruscant? To the Sith where his one-time destiny awaited? A destiny that he was still capable of claiming. A destiny he had hungered after for most of his own life.

A destiny that he knew deep within him, he would always hunger for.

But at what cost?

Padmé would not rule by his side. He knew that as surely as he knew anything.

He stared into the burning flames, tried to see past the yellow centre to the horizon beyond. Tatooine was the furthest point of the _known_ galaxy.

What about the unknown? He had been taught that the Force had no beginning, no end, no boundaries. The Force and the universe existed co-dependently. They could go beyond the galaxy, find new worlds… new destinies.

For the first time in his life, the call of adventure – pure, untainted by bloodlust or ambition – filled his blood. And perversely, he needed to dampen it. New worlds would mean new dangers, especially to Padmé and his unborn child. He could not risk them.

Indecision gnawed in his chest.

Stay and expose them to the dangers of the desert. Leave and take them into the dangers of the unknown.

With each passing day, Padmé waxed like a moon in daylight and time ran as swiftly as the sands beneath their feet…

… and still he was undecided.

And finally, the choice was taken out of his hands.

_''_

_Veld and Darra work together. It is a clever strategy, if unorthodox, but the Teachers are unpredictable. Their success is subject to interpretation. The Chief's head is won but Veld is left the prisoner of their prey. _

_Anakin watches in the shadows as they torture him; as Ferus disappears from amongst the aliens to chase after the real prize. _

_''_

_Naboo_

She didn't need to ask herself why she returned, any more than she needed to tell herself how futile the reason was. There was no home for her here and the memories were tainted with Sola's betrayal. Tainted goodbyes were an indulgence she could ill afford.

She spent most of her time traveling on cheap trams and economy shuttles. Her money was running out. Very soon, she would have to either get employment and some permanence or register for Republic support and be forced into permanence. Either way, her time was running out…

The humming of the tram's repulsor-engines had a strangely soothing effect on her increasingly restless womb and she had almost drifted asleep when her ears picked up a word that jerked her awake.

_"Guardian." _

"Khaleen, keep your voice down!"

"What difference does it make? The Guardian has abandoned us. The Grandmaster is gone and anyone who could have succeeded him is dead. The Sith hunt us down like so many flies. It is only a matter of time before someone breaks under torture and reveals…"

"For Force's sake, you will expose us all!"

"I don't care!!"

She turned now. She was not the only one. Other passengers were also looking at the quarreling pair – a male and female dressed in the typical travel-worn cloak and boots of mobile artisans.

Or, for people who knew better, Jedi.

The woman – the one who had been doing most of the talking – turned a pair of furious eyes from her companion and glared at the onlookers.

"What are you looking at?"

Embarrassed and repulsed, most of them turned away at once. A few stared on, unabashedly.

The Jedi – Khaleen (Padmé had known her, both of them, once upon a time) – was incensed.

"I said, _What are you looking at_?"

Vos tried to take her arm, and she pulled away. Malevolent brown eyes glared at the people on the train.

"You fools!" she spat. "You live your pathetic lives, go about your petty business, and tell yourselves that nothing is wrong, that your world is not being ruled by a mad man."

"Khaleen!"

She brushed him off, her fury sending her to her feet. "You take your own children to their 'clinics' to be destroyed. You take the stories of Tatooine and Hoth and Endor and you classify them as 'myths'. You live side by side with death and destruction and you call it 'peace'."

_"Khaleen!"_

The soothing humming of the engines had long lost their effect on Padmé. Every word the Jedi spoke was like a stone to her own skin. She had asked herself these questions once upon a time. She glanced at the other passengers. They were staring at Khaleen again, the open staring of people watching a mad woman rave – completely unabashed and utterly unmoved.

"Alderaan was destroyed! Chandrilla may be next!! Your own kind is being murdered along with us and yet every year, you will stand in your courtyards and shout 'Hail, Emperor!' –"

She collapsed into Vos's arms. For a moment, her audience looked on, waiting for an encore, but her companion only cradled her gently, turning her face away from them. His right hand stretched discretely, and gradually, most of the people found an interest in other things, bemusedly wondering what had captured their attention a moment earlier…

Padmé was not one of these people. She stared on at Khaleen and Vos until the latter's eyes met hers. He started and it was only then she looked away.

They came down at the next stop, Vos still supporting the barely conscious Khaleen. They passed Padmé where she sat and to her dread, she felt them pause – felt Vos's eyes heavy and accusing on her neck – and then, they moved on.

Padmé unknotted the fists she had not even realized she was clenching. The unknown life within her seemed to pulse in time with her own rapidly beating heart.

_''_

_Olin has alienated at least one compatriot that night and his brute cunning means he will never make a good Sith. Veld is a victim, and an object of pity can never be feared. Thel-Tanis had the sense to leave her mate and run with the prize, but she was overpowered. Inexcusable._

_The Chief's head now lay rotting with the rest of the alien corpses in the camp. As a test of stealth, Anakin has failed woefully. But he won the loyalty of two Hands and the fear of another. _

_It is after this test that the Teacher finally understands the Emperor. Until then, the Jinn has seen the Vergence as a threat, and nothing more. Now he sees what Palpatine sees: danger of Skywalker's existence can be commensurate to the reward. _

_

* * *

__To Be Continued._


	36. Pomegranate

**Chapter 36, Pomegranate**

_Alderaan_

High on the mountain cliff and against the backdrop of the starless sky, Vader might have been invisible. He was clothed in full Sith regalia – pitch black from his cloak to his boots. His hood was up; it and the dark fin of his starship shading him from the cold night breeze. He sat in a pseudo-meditative pose: cross-legged, black-leather gloved hands clasped against his knees. He was meditating, in a sense.

Across the valley, the lights from the wooden cabin that was the Jedi's 'safe-house' seemed to mock his darkness.

The Sith watched the Guardian as she made her preparations for the night, her features silhouetted against the glow of a single lamp. Elsewhere in the house, he could sense the familiar presence of the broken Jedi Padawan, and the male Jedi that ostentatiously protected her. Vader snorted, opting to feel amusement instead of rage. He was within seeing distance of their wooden hideaway and the Jedi had no awareness of his presence. He was nearer to Padmé than was wise. He could swoop down and steal her from the Jedi and they would not know until the sun rose the next day. It would be that easy.

He laughed bitterly to himself.

_(If merely taking Padmé would solve all his problems, he wouldn't now be tearing apart worlds, going half mad trying to find her__)._

She sat before a mirror, and in the lamplight, he watched her reflection. Her eyes were like deep pools in her pale face. Her hands, hands he knew were as soft as doves, were plaiting back her long, dark hair. Against his knees, his own hands flexed as he struggled against the wish to run his fingers through her hair, to touch her soft skin…

He swallowed painfully, wrapped his fingers resolutely around each other, and let out a shuddering sigh.

Through the glass, Padmé's eyes lifted and looked straight into his own.

He felt his heart stop. Then begin again, pounding fiercely. He did not know how long it lasted, that moment frozen in time when he stared at her staring at him.

"I've been waiting for you."

/

They met on his mountain. Vader rose unsteadily to his feet as the shuttle landed elegantly beside his own ship. Even though he had watched her board it a few minutes ago, even though he had long sensed that she was the only one in it, he still felt his heart leap with surprise when the cockpit opened and first one slipper-shod foot, then another climbed out of the craft.

Padmé stood by her shuttle, regarding him silently. Then she walked to him, those dark eyes never looking away from his face. With every step she took, his heart jumped. He resisted the urge to lift his hand to his chest, press against it. He broke the stare and gazed at her feet.

There was a network of bruises on her right foot.

He looked away, fixed his gaze at a point beside her left ear.

She stopped and he caught his breath.

Slowly, her lips curved into her cheeks. "I never got to apologize to you for fainting during our last conversation."

Of all the things, he had expected her to say, this was not one of them. He opened his mouth to speak, found that his throat was blocked, and just swallowed.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you weren't happy to see me."

Finally, he did find the words. "Don't you… why aren't you…?"

"Afraid of you?" she finished for him. "Should I be?"

He did look at her then, incredulity overcoming his awe. "I am Sith."

"You weren't born a Sith, Anakin Skywalker."

Shock hit him like a high wave, and he actually swayed on his feet. He hadn't been called by that name in years and the last person who did…

The last person who called him Skywalker was the old Guardian Winama whom he had murdered.

/

She watched the expressions flit across his face – shock, anger, something akin to horror.

"I am Sith."

She was a Guardian, the Most Wanted non-sensitive in the Empire; and he was Lord Vader, the Sith Heir to that Empire, the second-most powerful (and some had argued that he was not 'second' at all) living creature in the known galaxy. Even without the Force, she could feel the power within him, radiating out of him and warping the very air hovering against his lean, dark form. He could have killed her with his thoughts. The unholy lust that still echoed dimly in those blue eyes told her that he could have done even worse.

Padmé looked into the face of this young, broken man, and yes, she felt fear. She knew she had cause to fear him. But overwhelming and overruling that fear was the compassion – no, _connection_ – that she had felt for him longer than he himself could remember.

Vader's face had settled into something she could only describe as agitated resignation. "What do you want of me?"

Now that it was her cue to speak, the last rational part of her mind hesitated. If Obi-Wan could witness this strange interlude – assuming he did not die of sheer outrage – he would calmly take her aside and question her mental health.

Thoughts of Obi-Wan led to thoughts of the Jedi Grandmasters and the machinations they had put in place with other people as their pawns.

She looked up into Vader's impossibly blue eyes and she was sure. The last rational part of her mind fell silent. "I want to follow you to find the Kiber Crystal."

/

For the second time that night – no third time (the first being when she left the cabin to meet him here) – Padme had left Vader speechless.

"You thought I did not know?"

"Kenobi thought so."

There was anger in the sudden twist of her mouth. "The Jedi neither know nor own my thoughts."

Conflict. Dispute. This was familiar territory for the Sith. Suddenly, he was at ease for the first time in this strange encounter.

"So you defy your alliance with the Jedi?"

"I do not defy them," she said sharply.

"What then?" he demanded. There was a strain of old uncertainty there, and he pressed it, following the instinctive need to find weakness in something – someone – that placed him at a disadvantage.

She opened her mouth to answer – then snapped it closed. Unexpectedly, she smiled.

He swallowed. It was a tricky smile, dark and calculating, filled with too much knowledge of his thoughts and of her power over him.

"What do my reasons matter," she said softly, her voce just low enough to make him throb. He looked away, his face flaming. She stepped right into his space.

He started, turning abruptly so that he faced her.

She reached out a finger, touched his tunic. To his knowledge, _this _Padmé had only seen him once without his shirt, when the injuries from the Jedi were stark on his skin. Yet her finger followed with unerring accuracy, the path of white scar that ran from his collarbone to the side of his hip. His breath shallowed.

"You are Sith, aren't you? You take what you want, don't you?"

Another finger had followed the first one. Then another, and another, until both palms paused, resting flat against his stomach. She had stepped even closer and now, he was literally gasping for breath.

"You want me to come with you."

It was not a question. He had lost the battle before he had even known he was fighting one.

/

The power she had – or felt she had – over him was a two-edged sword. She had touched him to 'persuade' him and now, try as she might, she could not stop touching, wanting… His aura… his power was almost a tangible thing and it dazed her. Her lungs were struggling for air. If she was not careful, she was going to faint again.

She stepped even closer, struggling to focus, struggling to bend him to her will before she succumbed herself.

"We want…" she whispered and stopped. One of her constantly moving hands had reached where his heart rested. She was frozen in fascination by the rapid pounding beneath her fingers and she looked up at his face to share it.

His eyes had all but glazed over but now he started and stared at her with frightening intensity. Those sharp, painfully blue eyes touched hers and out of sheer self-preservation, she snatched her hands away.

"_We want the same things."_

Or tried to. He grasped her hands, held them against him. She opened her mouth to say something - anything that would make him let her go - and she just let out a wordless cry.

He dipped his head forward. They just stood there, her hands trapped between their chests with his own, his heart pounding against her fingers, her own breath almost deafening her. They were so close that she could see the tiny holes in his skin. See the flames ringing the edge of his irises as the unspoken question filled his eyes.

"Yes," she said – could she have answered anything else? – and she finished the word in his mouth.

Her breath caught in his throat and she felt her head fall backwards and his mouth follow.

_To Be Continued._

* * *


	37. A Show of Hands

**_A/N:_**_ Please bear with me for the long delay between postings. This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend and beta** fialleril** who did not beta this chapter so all the mistakes in here are 100 percent mine. :P_

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* * *

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Chapter 37, A Show of Hands

_Long ago…_

Long ago, the twins were borne. Children of the Force, equally blessed and cursed, they lived too long to remain heroes.

Now She lies dying, her wrinkled hand clutching the fist of the small boy who stares down at her face with watery grey eyes.

"I… have… a… gift… for… you."

/

_Coruscant. Present day. _

'_Convening of the Hands_'

Darra had stared at the cryptic message with trepidation pooling in her stomach until the plastiplast self-destructed, evaporating between her fingers.

She had gone all the same. It would have been suicidal not to. Whatever plan of action was decided upon, the first would be to kill all those who had defied the call.

She was one of the first to arrive. She found a niche between two of the largest oaks, kept a wary eye on the overhanging vines that were reputed to strangle unwary passers-by, and waited.

One by one, the rest of the Emperor's Hands trickled into the palace gardens. All were dressed in their formal uniforms of long, hooded red robes and black facemasks: clothing that was as much for ceremony and the appearance of solidarity, as it was for security. They all knew each other, of course. In the Force, there were no disguises. But the Convening of the Hands was usually one step away from outright treason and only a fool would fail to remember that.

It was no surprise to Darra that the last Hand to arrive, the one that took his place by the Fountain as head of ceremony, was Ferus Olin.

Nor was it too much of a surprise that his first words after the Oath of Power were these:

"The Emperor has to be stopped."

/

_Coruscant. Long ago._

"He is rather old to be Emperor after me."

The boy manages not to tense but the pieces of lightsabre scattered over the table tremble.

The Apprentice looks down on them and smiles. "Don't be afraid," he says and his grey eyes say that the words are a lie. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"I don't know what I meant, my Lord," the boy whispers. "I was confused. I have headaches."

"Yes, we know all about your headaches," the Apprentice drawls lazily. He picks up the red crystal without his hands and tosses it into the air. It catches the artificial light, refracts it through a thousand paths and for a moment, the image of a Cage filled with crystals such as these, twinkling in the almost perfect gloom fills his mind…

The crystal falls to the table and shatters as completely as the vision.

/

_Coruscant. Present day. _

"You think I am a traitor?"

"No, Ferus. I think you are a fool."

The Convening was over. It had been brief. Not much had been said beyond Ferus's argument for Darth Vader's deposal and an appeal to the other Hands to join him in achieving this. Of course, he wasn't expected to get an answer right away. The Hands would convene again and then they would decide as one body what will be done: Vader's execution or Ferus Olin's.

The case against Vader was clear enough: the activation of the Death Star, a weapon that was reserved for extreme action, against three Inner Rim planets in the pursuit of his mistress was an act of senseless violence that would de-stabilize centuries of an established balance between the totalitarian powers and the people they governed. He needed to be stopped before this happened.

However, the case against Ferus was the violation of the mandate that had been written into the bones of every Hand from the moment they were initiated, the mandate that was their earliest memory, and the very reason for their existence:

_It is forbidden for a Hand to rise against the Emperor. _

"You think our brethren will turn on _me_?" He asked now and snorted. "You're forgetting that no one can speak of what happened tonight to anyone who is not one of us. Not even to the Emperor himself."

"No, I think you are a fool to think you can take Vader down."

He scowled, his good-looking face becoming almost hideous. "Your precious Vader is powerful but he is not invincible. United, we can defeat him."

"Assuming for this argument that that is even possible, then what happens next, Ferus? Have you thought of that?"

He smiled and the ugliness vanished. "That's the best part."

She shook her head in frustration. "No, you haven't, have you? You talk well enough about keeping the balance and stopping Vader from pushing the people into the arms of the Jedi. You forget that there is also a balance _within the Sith dynasty itself_ and your actions are threatening that balance!"

"What dynasty?" Ferus asked, laughing incredulously. "The Sith dynasty is the dynasty of the Force and of power. Sensitives do not _breed_, dear sister. Otherwise our Emperor would now be a shrunken troll."

"I am not speaking of a blood lineage. I am speaking of a spiritual one."

"The one that is established when the Apprentice kills the Master and takes the seat of power?" He laughed when Darra started. "The Sith _think_ that they keep their secrets."

Darra was too shocked to respond. _Was that how it happened? _

Ferus laughed again. "You are so naïve, dear sister. Did you think Emperor Palpatine really just handed over power to Vader and died conveniently?"

"Perhaps I would have been better left thinking it," Darra whispered. _I think you would have been, too._

"Which is why you remain a Hand while I soon will be Emperor."

"Maybe so. Maybe I don't know as much as I thought I did. I certainly don't know as much as you think you do. But knowledge doesn't make you less a fool, Ferus, it makes you more."

His face was contorted again, twisting in rage. "Watch your tongue, Thel-Tanis or when I become Emperor, you will regret that."

"_If _you become Emperor, you will only be one by name, never in truth. Remember? _Always two there must be_ and Vader did not name you his apprentice."

"What do I need to be an apprentice for?"

"Open rebellion has never and shall never sustain us, all of us of the Force, both Sith and Hands. _If _the Hands decide in your favour, you will have to kill Vader. Alone. By yourself. The Hands will aid you by standing aside but that is all. If you will be Emperor over the rest of us, you will have to take down Vader without the rest of us.

"Think about that, Ferus. You will have to kill the Sith _Master_ in single combat."

She smiled grimly as his face paled.

"And only a Sith can murder a Sith."

/

_Hoth. Not so long ago._

"Why?" asks the broken man in the snow and there is a pain in his voice that can almost be betrayal.

He walks away. It has been many years since She died and thanks to her last gift he knows that the other will not die of exposure, or of starvation, or of the wound in his back.

He looks back once, and he can barely see the broken figure. The grey cloak now blends flawlessly into the landscape. Despite himself, he hopes.

Even after all these years of almost always knowing what the future will bring, the boy has not learnt to stop hoping.

/

_Coruscant. Present day._

Darra was absent for the third Convening of the Hands that would happen in her lifetime. She would never attend another Convening ever again. At this very moment, her brethren were declaring her life forfeit. Technically, she was no longer even a Hand.

It was a big price to pay for what she was about to do. But she would not stand still and watch either Vader or Ferus destroy her world.

The cleaning droids had been in the dungeons recently. The walls and floor had been washed clean off the stains of blood and scorch marks and the place smelled strongly of antiseptic. She made her way past rows of cells and the moaning and emaciated arms coming out of them, until she reached her destination.

The Jedi girl sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes closed and her palms folded neatly in her lap, the very expression of serenity.

"Barriss Offee?"

Her eyelids flew open. A pair of grey eyes stared at Darra. Darra swallowed, as unnerved now as she was the first time. Then gracefully, she fell to one knee.

"Master Jinn, I need your help."

_To Be Continued._

* * *


	38. Slight of Hand, I

**Slight of Hand, I**

_Coruscant_

It angered him to admit it but Ferus Olin had long been aware that there were some in the Imperial Palace who considered him a fool. It was a constant battle not to just allow them to underestimate him – a battle that he failed more often than he won. Vader – Skywalker – was chief of them. Ferus had always maintained that it was only the ex-Hand's total disrespect for the established rule and his freakish midi-chlorian count that had won him so much favor with the Emperor.

Well, Ferus thought with a satisfied smirk as he strolled through the corridors of the Palace, that little chapter in his life was closed for good.

_The trail had led to Tatooine, to the graveyard of two ships, and…_

"_ashes… and a human skull… we fear the worst, Lord Sidious…"_

He was still amazed at his own boldness, at the way he had quickly seized on the opportunity the instant it had presented itself to him. Being assigned with Tru Veld to follow the lead to Tatooine while Darra Thel-Tanis had gone to Naboo had been sheer luck. The same luck had made him be the one to find the crash site on Tatooine, that alien world with eddies in the Force equally repulsive and attractive. But it was his own genius that had cast the Force suggestion on Tru Veld, that had persuaded the weaker Jedi to turn away from a further probing for Skywalker. Veld had reported in person to the Emperor that there had been no sense of the Sith, that there was no hope and Ferus, across the holo-vid from Naboo where he had gone on to assist Darra Thel-Tanis, had collaborated the report.

The trick about lying to the Sith was not to lie at all. For all Ferus knew, Skywalker _was_ dead. And if he hadn't been dead at the time he and Veld had been on Tatooine, he certainly was dead now. That was another painful truth that Ferus hated to admit: Skywalker was the most tenacious creature he knew. If Skywalker were still alive, he would have found his way back to the Imperial Centre by now.

Darra Thel-Tanis had been Ferus's first test. Her piercing eyes had found no lie in his words. When he had arrived on Coruscant and repeated Veld's account to the Emperor, he truly believed the words that he spoke and he _knew_ from the look in Lord Sidious's eyes, that he had passed the final test.

It had been weeks since then and now the Imperial Palace – the entire Empire – waited with bated breath for the Emperor to announce the new Apprentice. Ferus Olin had every reason to believe that he would be called. Darra Thel-Tanis was not as ambitious. Tru Veld was not as skilled. The younger Hands were not worthy of competition.

Ferus paused before the doors to Vader's former chambers, and grinned at the metallic corpse that the cleaning droids had placed reverently against the wall.

"_One of these days, I'm going to catch that pompous tin can on its own and when I do, the furnace of my chambers will burn a little warmer."_

As it turned out, Vader's droid had not made very good fuel. But half the fun had been in trying.

/

Tendrils of Force kept the soft fruit afloat and Sidious watched it with an indulgent smile as it wobbled away from him. The expression on his face was in marked contrast to the deliberations within it as he traversed through the mundane corridors of Ferus Olin's mind.

Of course, the Hand was a fool to think that he had _him_ fooled and it was out of sheer amusement more than anything that had kept Olin alive for this long. Yes, Sidious thought watching the fruit fall to the plate, to rise again in a trembling spiral, he could admit that for some time he had been … misled. But immediately after that had come the irrefutable confirmation that his apprentice was dead.

Olin would be punished for his arrogance and for his complicity and his punishment would be as painful as it was humiliating.

The indulgent smile on Sidious's face broadened. It was something to look forward to. In the meanwhile…

The fruit fell yet again and before the uncertain tug could reach for it again, he lifted a finger.

The fruit split neatly through its centre, two halves falling on theirs sides with their exposed insides glistening red and sweet. There was shocked little gasp.

With an elegant flick of his wrist, the fruit rose to the boy across the table and tentatively, Tenlo Jankerrie plucked it out of the air with his fingers. He bit into it gingerly, and then smiled shyly.

Sidious smiled back, resolving that next time the Naboo boy won't get anything to eat until he had mastered the simple levitation trick. The sooner he found a Teacher for his next Apprentice, the better.

/

_Chandrila_

It was a straightforward enough mission – a suspected Jedi raid on one of the Hyper-Chlorian Treatment Centers – and a couple of Hands were mostly back up to the local security forces. It was not a mission that Hands relished: none would admit it, but no Hand ever felt comfortable inside a Centre.

Darra Thel-Tanis watched Ferus Olin from the corner of her eye as he bullied a ranking officer, as always threading the edge of acceptable conduct by the Hands and shivered in revulsion.

She had no inclination to question the Emperor's commands but she could not help but wonder if he also shared her suspicions about Ferus Olin, about the reports he and Tru Veld made of their search for Vader. No doubt the Emperor knew that Darra would relish this particular assignment the way few other Hands would have.

Ferus swaggered back to her and she glanced at him idly, knowing that nothing in her form or face could reveal that in a few minutes' time she was about to inflict on him crippling bodily harm. She was more attuned to the Force that she had ever been – sensing everything from Ferus's obnoxiously loud aura to the slightly brighter auras of the local security forces. The Emperor's power was echoing loudly within her, louder than it ever had done before in any of the times he had sent her off on a mission like this. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the Sith Lord had no Apprentice now.

She thought of Vader and her face twisted in pain.

_That _she could not hide.

"What's wrong?" Ferus Olin hissed, his eyes shining maliciously. "Still in mourning for your dead idol?"

"Thinking of taking his place?" Darra hissed back.

He grinned. "Perhaps."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes in front of the local security force and contented herself with a small smirk. "You're a bigger fool than I imagined, Ferus. And believe you me, I imagined a lot."

His face contorted with rage – _it was too easy!_ – and only at the last minute did he remember himself and look away.

Her smirk broadened and she fingered the heavy weapon on her belt, imagining how it would feel slicing through Ferus's back.

Such pleasant thoughts occupied her for a few more moments and then she felt the Force shift – rigid patterns of discipline interspersing with a wild lack of restraint. Her eyes were shifting to the security officers when the low hum of machinery turned her gaze to the white, cuboid transport with the serpentine emblem approaching the steps of the Treatment facility.

The inmates had arrived.

Darra watched with some interest as the passengers filed out. There were three white-robed Treatment staff, and they shepherded half a dozen children up the steps.

The children caught her attention. Ranging in ages from four to fourteen, they were already dressed in the grey uniforms they would wear until they graduated from the facility. Darra could sense varying degrees of apprehension, homesickness, and even some excitement. A few glanced at her curiously and she could almost hear the eager, hungry questions behind those bright eyes. Despite all the official propaganda, the rumors that the Treatment Centers were really Training facilities for the Imperial 'Elite' persisted.

Darra fought back a shudder. This place really gave her the creeps.

The children were nearer now. Eyes straight, she automatically shied from them even as their handlers broke them into lines to pass her. Olin was a few steps behind her and he did not budge. One child brushed by her by mistake and Darra felt her skin crawl. That sense of manic aura seemed to cling to her own Force-sense like muddy water.

A slight shriek made her glance back up. The child in front of the line had reached the front doors to the Centre and was apparently balking. It struggled against the firm hand of the Handler on its back, and refused to move on despite the Handler's best efforts. Its anxiety was infectious and the rest of the children were becoming restless. There were a few more shrieks.

A few of the local security started to break formation to help but they stopped with a steely glance from all three Hands. The last thing anyone needed was for ten untrained sensitive children to be antagonized further.

Where in the Emperor's Name were the rest of the Clinicians and their sedatives? Darra stared hard at the door, sensing something…

One of the children burst into loud, wet wailing. Others joined in.

With a curse, Darra dropped her hand from her belt and followed Ferus who was already moving towards the children.

"Now, calm down, you lot. There's no reason to get so excited," Ferus drawled, hands stretched out and touching two particularly hysterical children. Even before he finished speaking, their cries were already quieting down. Force suggestions was one of the few things he knew how to do well, Darra thought grudgingly. His hands were moving to another pair of children when Darra suddenly realized:

This was her chance.

Her hand was on her belt and the lightsabre hilt was in his lower spine before he had spoken two more words.

It would have been nice to seen his face before she did it, Darra thought, watching him fall forward on his feet, his weight pulling down one of the children he had reached for. In the Force, she felt him pass quickly into unconsciousness.

There was a moment of perfect silence when everyone else seemed to stare in shock at what was going on. Then the child underneath Ferus screamed and full-scale panic broke out around her.

Children were running, scattering down the steps, a few rushing for the doors and banging on them in panic. The local security-men were running haphazardly – some for the children, three towards her.

With the Emperor's power flowing within her, she felt the shift in energy, the sudden unsheathing of the three blades in less than the time it took to inhale a single breath. But even with Lord Sidious's power, there was nothing she could do to dodge all three weapons at the same time.

/

The timing was flawless. The last effects of the suppressant had faded at the exact moment that the Treatment van had arrived and the 'security officers' had been able to gradually prod the children into panic. An unmarked transport arrived just seconds after the last local security guard joined his mates and the three Clinicians on the floor in Forced slumber. The three Jedi, still wearing the black uniforms of Imperial security carefully carried the children (also in a Force-induced state of unconsciousness) into the waiting transport.

It was Bruck who drew their attention to the fact that the male Hand was still alive.

"Leave him to rot," Asajj said brutally.

Bruck rolled his eyes. "Was I the only one who noticed that the other Hand attacked him?"

"So? For all we know it's some kind of sick training session." She hesitated. "Maybe we should just kill him."

Xanatos held her wrist in the nick of time. "Before we take any rash decisions, I think we should take him to the Grandmaster."

Moments later, the Jedi left the Chandrila system with their bounty and their unexpected prize.

_To be continued..._


	39. Slight of Hand, II

**Chapter 39, Slight of Hand, II**

Ferus Olin wasn't surprised at Darra Thel-Tanis's betrayal. As a matter of fact, he had been counting on it.

/

_Geonosis_

The Outer Rim planet of Geonosis was essentially one large hideout for those in the Empire who preferred life beyond Imperial scrutiny. Its labyrinth of buildings, twisted and warping the former industrial structures; and its non-existence public service governed by an administration of spice barons, thugs and bounty hunters while the official executives ruled from a distance made it an exceptionally good hideout. But none of these were as much a hindrance to the once-Hand as the Force ambiance of the planet itself: a fetid, pulsating lump that pressed down on Darra in a way that the Dark Side could not harness. It would have taken Darra Thel-Tanis months, maybe years to track down the Jedi Keeper if she hadn't had what might be mistaken as a string of exceptionally good luck.

"_Come with me."_

"_I don't have to." _

The first stroke of 'luck' happened the moment she stepped on to the spaceport. A small child with mad eyes and a sign saying "Do you have a spare coin?" wandered to her side. Darra was already shying away on instinct before she noticed the serial code branded beneath the long white fringe.

A cold hand crept up her spine. Although she had delivered many Force-sensitive children to the Clinics that were scattered across the galaxy, she had never met one that had been released from the treatment facility. With the near-hypnotic attention one gave to the horrific, she stopped. The vacant grey eyes were not as disconcerting as the twisted, knotted mass of aura cannibalizing itself in its forever-thwarted effort to touch the Force.

She was reaching for her purse, spurred by both pity and revulsion when like a striking snake, the child's hand clamped on her wrist.

Skin to skin contact brought that deformed aura even closer to hers and it was sheer instinct that stretched Darra's hand and sent the child flying across the dust. It rolled into a broken heap and lay motionless.

The citizens of the Geonosis looked up casually at the scene and kept moving, oblivious and indifferent. Darra felt her heart beating as she ran to the child, self-recrimination and horror filling within her as she nerved herself to touch its body, turning it round to its side and sweeping the white hair from its face.

She bit back a gasp. The Jinn's grey eyes were already open and staring at her.

"Travel East to the Arena. You'll find the Jedi Keeper there."

The eyes closed. They didn't open again.

"_I will find you."_

/

Darra soon realized the reason for Geonosis's repulsive ambiance. She met many more former inmates from the Clinic, some were children, and some were old, decrepit creatures that might as well have been. Some had shied away from her; some had stared at her with fury and pain in their eyes; some had tried to attack her. All, without fail, had sensed the power within her and envied and hated her for it.

The only exception had been the young woman serving behind the bar in a cantina who had seemed remarkably sane until she poured Darra a drink, stared at her with Jinn eyes and explained to her the leverage she would need against the Jedi Keeper.

All the while, the Force pressed on her with an oppressive stench. The perpetual sense of something hovering just out of sense-shot – something almost recognizable if only she could distinguish it from the murkiness – followed her everywhere. Sleeping or waking, her hand never strayed far from the weapon on her belt.

Now she stood before the tarnished metal door, her heart beating with anticipation. The Force echoed strangely behind it. She unsheathed her saber. Breaking into the lock was easy enough. The door slid open before her and she was staring into the face of the Jedi Keeper.

/

The Jedi Keeper couldn't have found a better hiding place, Ferus decided as he watched his former 'sister' make her way into the decrepit inn. He fisted his hands in his robes, and ignored the sweltering heat from the Geonosian suns. The urge to strike was strong – he could easily take Darra and the woman – but he made himself wait. Perhaps, Darra would kill the Keeper for him and that would make everything all the more easier.

/

It was a narrow room – a sink, a low cot and a tiny screen separating the restroom area. There was a high window that filtered in dusty light. The room itself was brightly lit, almost blindingly so and the Jedi Keeper sat on her cot, staring at Darra with resignation in her eyes.

Under different circumstances, Darra could have passed her on the street without recognizing her. The thick dark hair was almost as white as that first broken child's. Her arms were bare – the first time that Darra ever saw them so – and purple tattoos covered the skin from her shoulders to the back of her palms. But the most startlingly and effective disguise was the distended arc of her abdomen. It was said that the power of the Jedi Keeper rested in their ability to suppress Force signatures in sensitives, and in the women that bore sensitives. Either that was a lie; or the child Padmé Naberrie was carrying was even more powerful in the Force than its father.

It occurred to Darra that as bad as things were, they could be considerably worse.

Darra's saber was still drawn but the Jedi Keeper had made no effort to move.

"So he has found me." Her voice was as expressionless as Darra remembered.

Darra shook her head slowly. "I came on my own."

"To kill me?" Her eyes flashed to the saber and then lifted to Darra's face. She was smiling sinisterly. "I have to warn you, I don't die easily."

_I should have killed you at the Palace before he became Master. He would have destroyed me then himself. Palpatine would have chosen another. The cycle would have been unbroken._

_Now it is too late._

"No, I haven't come to kill you." Darra hesitated, and then decided to keep the saber drawn. "I have come to ask you to save the world."

White eyebrows lifted. "I'm listening."

So she told her.

"You're asking me to go back to him."

Persuasion without the Force and without brute strength wasn't a skill that most Hands acquired. Darra was no exception to this. "I'm telling you that you don't have a choice," she said through gritted teeth. "He will find you or he will destroy everything until he finds you."

"And if I refuse? Will you take me by force?"

"You don't think I can?" Her grip on her saber tightened.

The Keeper eyed the blade. The sinister smile hadn't gone from her lips. "What do you think will happen to you if he thinks you've harmed me?"

Against her will, the memory of the garden and the invisible fingers crushing her throat filled her mind.

She forced them away. She tried to remember what the barmaid with grey eyes had told her. The conversation was vague and surreal in her memory but certain words were still stark in her mind and she used them now.

"_Things she didn't understand controlled her life. It's up to you to find which is stronger: the power to Make Things Better… Or just the power?"_

"So you do know the power you have over him?"

The smile slipped off. "It is not a power that I sought for!"

"Maybe not. You have it. Use it. You want to save your Jedi friends? Make the Lord spare them. You want to save the worlds he's destroying. Make him stop. Do _something_ instead of hiding in your cell like a pregnant rat."

The Keeper's face went very, very pale. "Watch. Your. Tongue."

Triumph flared within Darra. "Or is that what you're afraid of? It takes a strong person to know where their weakness lies. Yours is power. It's been power since you were a child watching your sister burn."

"Stop."

"There is no 'good' or 'bad' power," Darra said softly. "It's all up to you how you use it."

For the first time since Darra had entered the tiny cubicle, the Jedi Keeper turned away. "I will not become like him."

"_Make her an offer she cannot refuse."_

"Then you will become worse."

In the silence that followed, Darra could almost hear the aura around the Keeper shifting, a shapeless, formless glob of energy.

Then it shattered as the door fell upon with a single blast of power.

/

Vader didn't need to replay the transmission. It echoed loudly in his head as he piloted his lone craft through the hyperspace lanes, his heart hammering in his chest with anticipation and fear. Every now and then, he glanced at the strand of brown hair wrapped around his fist and he'd push the vehicle even harder.

"_How far will you go for your little prize?" _

/

_To Be Continued_


	40. Slight of Hand, III

**Chapter 40, Slight of Hand, III**

_Myrkr_

"I knew you would come!" Ferus shouted over the monsoon. He could feel the biting water trickling down his neck and his hair clung to his scalp. It was a minor inconvenience to the sight of the Lord Vader himself, trapped in a circle of ysalamiri as the Force-driven vornskrs closed in around him.

"Where is she?" Vader howled.

"Still thinking about your pet?" Ferus retorted and laughed when Vader tried to lunge at him, only to draw back as the hounds's growling increased. "Why do you care? You'll never see her again!"

"Where is she?" Vader snarled.

Ferus laughed. "I don't know. No one does. Maybe she's dead."

It was not the sight that many saw in their lifetimes – a Sith that was as furious as he was powerless. Ferus grinned, fingered the green liquid that he had retrieved from the Palace, the remnants of the Jedi Keeper's things that had been kept in safe keeping by the Emperor's droid.

There was nothing left of the droid now. A bold move at the time. Just as his injecting himself with the Keeper's poison had been just as bold. But both gambles had paid off magnificently.

The trap had been carefully laced and the Emperor had fallen for the bait. He had arrived on the deadly world of Myrkr, alone and defenseless to claim his prize. He hadn't realized that he was the prize – for every hungry vornskr within sensing range. Ferus was immune – the Keeper's poison would make him so.

All was going according to plan.

All that was left was to kill the Emperor.

He walked towards Vader, his saber tight in his grip. "Can you remember when we were children? How abysmal you were at Force persuasion?"

Vader didn't answer, red-shot eyes just glaring at him.

"The only difference between you and me is your midi-chlorian count. You're a freak. And now I'm going to end you."

He stood just beyond the periphery, his saber raised in his hand like a spear and he stabbed with it, aiming for the heart.

Vader moved just in the nick of time, and the saber passed through his billowing cape. Snarling, Ferus stabbed again, and Vader fell back, the blade slicing through his hair. The hounds snarled, jaws snapping at him and he scrambled back to the centre just as a venomous tail lashed at him and missed.

Ferus stabbed again and again, frustration building within him as Vader evaded every blow with a dexterity that would have been awe-inspiring if it wasn't so aggravating. The same Force that slowed Vader down, slowed the Hand as well. He couldn't reach Vader in time.

With a snarl of rage, Ferus leaped, jumping over the head of a vornskr and into the centre. Vader's arm went up, blocking the arm that held the saber and his other hand went for the wrist. With one fierce twist, the saber went flying beyond the circle of hounds.

Ferus reached out and hit the Sith. Vader's head went back with the blow, while his hands, still on Ferus's wrist and arm, pulled in different directions. Ferus screamed.

"You think that it is the Force that makes me a Sith?" Vader snarled in Ferus's ear before he let him go suddenly, sending him reeling back on the mud.

The vornskr fell on him. A tail had cut through his cloak before he pushed them off with a shout.

A chain snapped and it was only the animal's surprise, stopping halfway as it suddenly realized it was unshackled, that saved Ferus. He dove to the ground and the beast flew over his head – and straight at Vader. Vader caught it with his arms, ducking his head from the beast's teeth. The two went rolling on the ground. Heart pounding from his own narrow escape, Ferus scrambled to his feet, keeping a wary eye on the other vornskr. At the moment they were secure but now that one of them had been freed, the others were frenetic in their anxiety to be unleashed. Bloodshot eyes alternated between him and Vader.

The Keeper's poison had worn out then, Ferus realized as he furiously searched for his saber. Vader was still rolling on the ground with the beast but Ferus knew that he wouldn't be long. His well-laid plans were unraveling around him and he needed to end this quickly.

A blood-curdling shout halted him on his hands and feet. He spun to see Vader on his back, the hound that he had been struggling with motionless across his chest. The blood was pooling on the ground almost as fast as the rain could pour. One hand was buried inside the brute's jaw, the other twisted around his back. Whiplashes tattooed his face – the venom had struck. His eyes were closed and his chest, ripped to the bone and bleeding profusely, was not moving.

Triumph filled Ferus's heart and he rose to his feet. Could it be? Was Vader dead?

He stood above Vader, a wary distance this time, and the other's eyes flew open. His chest started rising and falling again, faintly and even through the downpour, Ferus could hear the wet, heavy breathing.

He was obviously dying and there was no Force to intervene here.

Vader opened his mouth and coughed out thick blood. Then he smiled at Ferus with red teeth. "I guess this makes this vornskr Emperor. Only I killed it."

Ferus laughed uneasily. "You're already dead."

Vader's shark-like grin widened. "Am I? Come and finish me off then."

The rain kept falling. Ferus didn't move. He was no fool, regardless of what the Emperors old and new thought of him.

Vader coughed more blood. "Where is she?" His voice was weak.

"Still worried about _her_?" Ferus asked, genuinely surprised.

"I am dying. What difference does it make to you?"

Ferus hesitated. "I don't know," he said, surprising himself by his honesty. "I found her and she escaped. Darra was with her." He thought of telling Vader about the Keeper's condition. He decided against it.

Vader closed his eyes.

His chest was still. The rain kept falling. Ferus walked to the Sith, hardly believing it… Distantly, he realized that the vornskr were quieting down.

He stared down at Vader, relief and shock rising within him. He had done it. He was Emperor!

The lightsabre flew out like a whip – springing out from the hand that Vader had pulled behind his back with deadly aim…

…and missed.

Ferus gasped, his heart pounding furiously as he watched the weapon fizzle and out in the wet mud. Then he turned back to Vader, who was still lying on his back, the picture of frustration, and he howled with laughter.

Triumphantly, he swooped up the weapon and raised the blade high over his head. For a moment, there was utter silence. The vornskr had long stopped barking.

"Now you die!"

He lunged – and crumpled to the ground.

He never felt the needle pierce through his spine. It was only the sudden, belated shock of another's presence that alerted him and then it was too late.

The rain was pouring on his face. Her large, dark figure hovered over him and he stared into her brown eyes until his closed forever.

~*~*~

_Yavin_

By the third day, the sight of the white-skinned Jedi and the green vial in her hands was enough to make Ferus convulse.

He had always known he was never as good as Vader – or even Tru Veld – at withstanding torture but he was ashamed at how easily the Jedi broke him. Or he would have been ashamed if he could have felt anything beside unending agony.

The poison was bad enough – it leached through his veins and cut him from the Force so completely that he didn't even feel human – but it was what followed and his inability to channel the pain or even suppress it that destroyed his last iota of endurance.

By the third day, he had told them all that they needed to know and more.

~*~*~

_Myrkr_

Darra walked into the makeshift arena, keeping a wary eye on the vornskr and shivering violently as she entered the influence of the ysalamari.

They had warned them about these creatures as children. Entry into Myrkr was forbidden except to the elite of the Emperor's Court. It wasn't as difficult as it sounded: to the rest of the Empire, it did not exist.

The hounds glared at her with baleful eyes and their tails twitched restlessly, but they were silent, lying on their stomachs with their paws stretched before them and their eyes focused on the Keeper. Darra stood by the Keeper's shoulder and stared down at her once-brother.

"Is he…?"

"He was lucky the first time," the Keeper said quietly as she placed the cap carefully over the needle. "A little is enough to suppress the midi-chlorian count. A little more…" She trialed off and Darra shivered, feeling a coldness within that had nothing to do with the downpour.

The Keeper's eyes flickered past Ferus's dead body as if it was no longer there, and rested on Vader.

Darra was already flying to his side. "He's hurt," she gasped, breathing hard. _Too late! Am I too late?_

Clumsily, the Keeper knelt down beside her. She pressed her hand against Vader's neck and closed her eyes.

Darra could barely hear for the ringing her ears when the Keeper told her that there was still a pulse.

~*~*~


	41. So It Begins

**Chapter 41, So It Begins**

_Yavin_

_'As long as the Rule of Two and the Sith Dynasty exists, you are satisfied. Skywalker threatens that. You are afraid of him. Afraid of the prophecy. Of what might happen if his power were turned on you all. So you wanted to discover if we had given up turning him. And you wanted the Jedi to destroy him.'_

_'You will do it all the same. This boy will destroy all of us.'_

_'We will not be your murderers for you.'_

_'Kill or be killed. Have you forgotten, Grandmaster?'_

~*~*~

_"Have you forgotten, Grandmaster?"_

~*~*~

"Grandmaster."

"GRANDMASTER!"

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open with a snap to stare into Bruck's anxious face.

"Wh-what?" he stammered, scrambling for composure as he physically and mentally struggled to return to this reality.

Bruck was now peering suspiciously into his face. "Were you sleeping?"

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed and he drew himself up with dignity. "Knight Bruck, can you tell me what was so urgent that you interrupted my meditations?"

Promptly chastened, Bruck flushed. "Forgive me, Grandmaster. We have located the cause of the disturbance." The anxiety that had temporarily left his face returned. He reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll of Alderaan parchment.

Obi-Wan took it. His name was written across the seal in Padmé Naberrie's distinctive calligraphy. His finger traced the curl that joined his first names as he listened to the rest of Bruck's message. Outwardly, he was the image of complete calm but inside, his stomach was plummeting.

It wasn't really too soon. It shouldn't have taken him by surprising. He had known long enough that there was no other way for this to play out.

But the truth was that there was no way in the known galaxies that anyone would ever be ready for this.

_"Will you run from this, Jedi? Or will you face it?"_

Bruck had finished talking and now he looked at the Grandmaster expectantly.

Obi-Wan's fist clenched around the un-opened letter.

"Take me to her."

~*~*~

They had taken Barriss Offee to the secondary medical facility in one of the satellite camps on the other side of the moon.

She lay unconscious on the cot, the vivid marks of lashes and burns giving testimony to the hospitality she had received since she had been taken from them. Her physical scars were nothing compared to the maelstrom of near-madness swirling in her aura – the reason why she had had to be transported as far from the other Jedi as possible.

_"I wondered if you would come."_

_"Why wouldn't I? Do you think I fear you?"_

_"If you don't, then you are a fool." _

Aurra's lifted her pensive gaze from her patient to look at Obi-Wan's face. "Did you say something to her?"

For a moment he looked at her and she saw an older, wizened, _other_ face. Then the image dissolved and the Grandmaster's expressionless visage stared back at her. "No," he said abruptly. "How is she?"

"W-well enough," Aurra said, giving him one last suspicious glance before she returned her attention to her patient. The anger she had been feeling since she first saw the young Healer colored her next words. "No thanks to Vader."

The entire Temple had risen with the tangible sense of _wrongness_ that permeated the entire moon and seemed to radiate from a certain part of the Eastern Temple gardens. A search for the source had been initiated at once. It – she had been found within minutes, her thin hands clutched around a letter to the Grandmaster. The young Jedi who found her had sent out a message for help, waited by her, and had later required sedation. Only Aurra and another elder Healer had relocated to the satellite camp with the Padawan. And for three days, it had been a constant battle to keep up their mental shields around the broken child.

Now, after a full day of intense healing and forced hibernation, the Healer apprentice was halfway to recovery. The bones were mended and strengthening, the scars on the outside were fading. Her aura bubbled with uneasy peace and Aurra told the Grandmaster that Barriss would soon be well enough to wake.

"If she lives, it will be because of you," the Grandmaster said softly.

_"You say it as if it were a commendation, not an admonition." _

Aurra shook her head. "If she lives it will be because of the Guardian. Without her influence, Barriss could never have held on for this long." She bit back her next words in the nick of time. _She should have been brought here at once. She should never have been taken to Alderaan._

"Then it's a thankful thing that Barriss went to the Guardian first."

There was something like chastise in his voice and Aurra flinched. She lifted her chin and stared at Obi-Wan with some defiance. "I recognized the handwriting on that letter. Did the Guardian defy you to bring Barriss here?"

The Grandmaster's eyes twinkled. "I have no jurisdiction over the Guardian. She cannot defy me. Let me know when she wakes up."

_"I have nothing to say to you." _

There was that again – that odd whistling in the Force that could almost be whispered words. Aurra turned to ask the Grandmaster if he had heard it, too…

…the Grandmaster was already walking away.

_"You can't run forever, Master Kenobi." _

~*~*~

"Have you discovered how she managed to be brought to Yavin without our sensors noticing the arrival and departure of a craft?"

"Well obviously, our security systems were overridden and by-passed. It's just not clear _how_. The authorization level that can do that is the very highest level." Bruck hesitated. "Do you think the old Master…?"

"No."

The word slammed the line of thought shut so firmly that Bruck winced.

"What do we do then, Grandmaster?" He asked at last.

Obi-Wan considered the question as he stepped over an over-arching root, watching the leaf-filtered glow of the red planet cast green shadows beneath their bodies. It was not far from where they now strolled that the body of Barriss Offee had been found. A strange gift from an even stranger giver.

"There is nothing to be done."

"What about the Guardian? Xanatos said she disappeared the same evening as Barriss Offee. Vader must have taken her again. If we find Vader-"

"You will find that Vader is not in the Imperial Palace. I doubt very much that he is on Coruscant. I doubt if we will ever…" He broke off abruptly.

_"This boy will destroy all of us."_

"So we have abandoned the Guardian?" For the third time in less than as many days, a Jedi looked at the Grandmaster with less than complete confidence in his gaze.

_"Signs of the end times."_

_"I thought I told you not to speak to me." _

"The Guardian wrote me a letter – the letter that was found with Barriss Offee. There are certain wordings that she would have used if she wrote it under duress. She did not use them. Take my word for it, you worry yourself needlessly over the Guardian."

_"You told me you had nothing to say to me. I, on the other hand, have a lot to say to you." _

"… a spy?"

The Grandmaster let his hand linger on the branch by his side, feeling the sap pulse through it like blood as he tried to navigate the realities in his mind.

"Barriss Offee is not a spy." _She is something much worse. _"The Emperor doesn't need a spy. He has Vader."

The finality and simplicity of the statement silenced Bruck. Of course, the Sith Lord would not soon forget the place of his captivity. The obvious question was why he had not done anything about it and even more pressingly, why the _Grandmaster _was not doing anything about it.

Obi-Wan could feel the nebulous thoughts in the other Jedi's mind and he almost smiled at the older man's reticence. Almost.

For a long time, the two walked in relative silence. The green deepened. The animal voices changed as the nocturnes began to wake. Even the Jinn's nattering seemed to quiet to a low murmur.

"Grandmaster?" Bruck asked at last.

"Yes."

"Do you know Why?"

The Grandmaster did not hesitate.

"Yes."

_"You Jedi lie better than the Sith." _

~*~*~


	42. Ejima: the untold story

**Chapter 42, Ejima: the untold story**

_Long ago…_

Long ago, the twins were borne. Children of the Force, equally blessed and cursed, they lived too long to remain heroes.

Now Yaddle lies dying, her wrinkled hand clutching the fist of the small boy who stares down at her face with watery grey eyes.

"Don't die," he whispers, biting hard enough into his lower lip to draw blood. "Please, don't die."

Her ancient face creases into a smile that bellies her pain and weakly, like a trembling hand, a breeze brushes against his brow, a futile attempt to soothe him.

"Do… not… weep… my child." She closes her eyes as the effort to keep them open is draining. She wishes she could tell him how glad she is to be dying at last. She has lived too long, longer than her own naturally long lifespan, longer than her brother who everyone once thought would live forever. The world has changed around her and she has been as much the victim as the architect of that change.

She opens her eyes and her gaze falls on the pale fringe of the boy kneeling by her side and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

Her three fingers tighten their grip and Qui-Gon lifts his face.

"I… have… a… gift… for… you."

''

_Imperial Centre. Long ago._

Left to his own devices, the boy will never tell them of his gift but the Sight descends on him in the oddest of moments and he is still a long way off from the duplicity that will be his defining trait. He casually mentions Jocasta's victory in the Solstice Games weeks before the duelling tournament is to begin. He is sick over the vivid memories of the massacre in Alderaan almost a year before the Jedi dissidents burn down the Hyper-Chlorian Treatment Facility. And even when he thinks he's more wary, he slips and calls the six-year-old boy from Naboo Emperor.

A few months after Yaddle's death, her old favourite becomes a pariah amongst his peers.

"He is rather old to be Emperor after me."

The boy manages not to tense but the pieces of lightsabre scattered over the table tremble.

The Apprentice looks down on them and smiles. "Don't be afraid," he says and his grey eyes say that the words are a lie. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"I don't know what I meant, my Lord Tyrannus," the boy whispers. "I was confused. I have headaches."

"Yes, we know all about your headaches," the Apprentice drawls lazily. He picks up the red crystal without his hands and tosses it into the air. It catches the artificial light, refracts it through a thousand paths and for a moment, the image of a Cage filled with crystals such as these, twinkling in the almost perfect gloom fills the boy's mind…

The crystal falls to the table and shatters as completely as the vision.

The boy stares at the shards, the product of a long and arduous journey through the white wilds of Illum and sighs.

"She gave you the Sight, didn't she?"

The boy jumps. It is the first time that his unnatural gift (curse) has ever been spoken off directly, has ever been _named_. The other Hands can't seem to decide between mocking his strangeness or injuring him when he brings them 'bad luck'. The Teachers ignore him completely when they are not giving him wary glances from the corner of their eyes. The Emperor is perhaps the one person who acknowledges his gift in any kind of positive manner. When he is in the Imperial Palace, he holds long conversations with the boy about everything from the state of the Empire to the evening's entertainment. But no mention is ever made of his uncanny insights or of Yaddle – the latter being especially odd since the boy gets the strong impression that he has replaced Yaddle as the Emperor's confidant.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the boy whispers now.

Even with his gaze on the table, he can _feel_ the razor-edge sharpness of Tyrannus's smile.

"I think, Qui-Gon Jinn that you and I should be friends."

''

_Hoth. Not so long ago._

He knew then that he was building a lightsabre that will destroy a Sith. So when the blade flies open in his grip, the grip that rests almost affectionately in the small of Tyrannus's back, he feels no sense of triumph or remorse. He has committed this murder so many times already in his dreams that it is the reality that feels surreal.

The felled Sith crumples into the wetness, the cloak pooling around him so that he is huddled like broken logs in the snow. The blood that he bleeds is black against the white. Jinn can almost see the poison leaching into the soil beneath. There is no wind this night, and the wet sound of air bubbling through blood-filled lungs is loud in the silence.

"Why?" asks the broken man in the snow and there is a pain in his voice that can almost be betrayal.

So Jinn tells him. He speaks of the Force and its whims; of Tyrannus himself and his heresy; of the Emperor and the Code; of Palpatine and his latent power. He speaks of Yaddle and how much he loved her and how she cursed him. He speaks of his dreams and of the moment he realized his purpose. He speaks of things that have nothing to do with his old friend's questions. He has a lot to say. He has been wanting to say these things for a long time.

It is remarkably easy to speak to a dying man.

(Only Tyrannus will not die.)

Finally, he stops. The sound of Tyrannus's breathing have ceased.

The Jinn walks away.

It has been many years since She died and thanks to her last gift, he knows that the other will not die of exposure, or of starvation, or of the wound in his back.

He looks back once, and he can barely see the broken figure. The grey cloak now blends completely into the landscape. Despite himself, he hopes.

Even after all these years of almost always knowing what the future will bring, of knowing that the absolution will never come, the boy has not learnt to stop hoping.


	43. Broken: The Price

**Chapter 43, Broken: The Price**

"_I do not __love__ her." _

_His old teacher's gaze rested heavily on the young Sith. _

_(It was dream. It had to be a dream. Jinn's eyes had never been kind in life.)_

"_Love is not… strong enough a word for what I feel." _

_Vader hesitated, hating that he needed to ask when he already knew the answer, but he had to. "She will never love me, will she?" _

_The other did not answer. From the sadness that blinked in those grey eyes, he did not have to. _

_Tears burned in Vader's eyes. He blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. _

''

_Imperial Centre_

He kept slipping in and out of consciousness. His chest was on fire, being knitted by what felt like dragon-blood-tipped needles.

Once he was conscious enough to recognize his own chambers in the Imperial Palace, the fresco on the ceiling, light filtering through painted glass.

"He's awake," someone murmured redundantly.

He shifted his head until he could see the faces staring down at him– Darra's, Threepio's, the Jedi Healer's…

…and Padmé Naberrie's.

His breath caught.

"Y-you're… here."

He didn't hear what she said – or if at all she said anything – before the darkness took him again.

''

"_If… if I had not chased her… if the bounty hunter had failed… if I had not", he could not say it out loud, "perhaps, perhaps she may have come to love me… in different circumstances?" _

"_Is that what you believe?" _

"_It's what I have to believe. It's what…" He blinked rapidly, feeling every pang of his bleeding heart. "I cannot live without her. Don't make me." _

"_Me? Who am I? You are the avatar of the Force. The choice has always been up to you." _

_(It had to be a dream.)_

''

When he woke up again, it was with a finality that told him that the worst had past. The dull ache in his chest was nothing compared to the pounding in his head. Threepio's mechanical cry seemed to echo through his brain.

"Thank the Maker, you are finally awake!"

"Shut up, Threepio," he ordered – croaked. He tried to sit up in the bed he was lying in and his head spun. He shrugged the disorientation like an insignificant bug and ignored Threepio's cries of alarm as he got unsteadily to his feet.

A firm hand on his shoulder, a gentle push, and it was with utter ignominy that Vader fell back to the bed.

"Hey!"

"My Lord, you need to rest. Your fever has broken but your body is still healing." Darra's voice was firm in its deference as she gently but firmly, pushed him back into a reposing position.

Vader had a lot to say to this – was about to say a great deal – but the words froze in his throat at the sound of the doors to his chamber sliding open and the sense of the presence that was gradually filling his senses.

It was changed, doubled in a way that he was too tired to try to understand. But it was unmistakable. His breath caught.

Darra paused in her ministrations. "You're here." Her voice was stiff; he could sense the strain in it and in her aura. "I thought we decided you'd come later…"

"Leave, Thel-Tanis," Vader managed to croak.

She didn't budge. Her aura tensed further. "My Lord, perhaps you had better-"

"Get out before I throw you out."

The good thing about Darra Thel-Tanis was that she rarely needed telling twice. She even had the good sense to drag the protocol droid along with her. Vader lifted his head from his pillow to watch her pass the dark figure by the doorway, watch the swift, mysterious exchange of glances that the two shared before Darra slipped out of his chambers and left him alone. With Padmé Naberrie.

Padmé turned to him. It only took him a few seconds to fill his gaze with her dark, bottomless eyes – and he turned his eyes to the ceiling above him.

"I'm surprised you didn't leave me to die," he whispered.

He felt her move nearer. "The thought crossed my mind," she said simply. "Your Hand left me no choice." And just like that, she killed the hope that had risen in his heart.

"I thought…" He couldn't finish the words. _I thought you Jedi-Keepers were willing to die for your cause._ _The one I killed did. _He certainly couldn't bring himself to utter the fear that had plagued him while he hunted her: that she would spite him in the worst way possible by taking her own life.

He didn't have to. "I was willing, yes. But I'm not ready to take others with me."

"Others?"

She didn't answer right away. She came nearer and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the white hair peeking out from under her hood. "With the death of an Emperor with no heir, every Hand and every Grand Admiral would be vying for power. Civil war would be inevitable. Thousands, maybe millions will die."

Vader laughed. It echoed in his head and he groaned a little. "Your Jedi allies have spent centuries trying to bring down the Empire and never for one moment did they plan any semblance of order or continuity on the unlikely, impossible and hypothetical event that they succeed?"

She drew in a sharp breath. It struck him just how vulnerable he was right now. He was weak and injured and alone with a woman to whom he was still an enemy.

He did not care.

She had killed Ferus. Vader remembered that like something in a dream but it had happened. He had clung to that memory in his delirium and hinged all his hopes on it. But nothing had changed. No matter how much it injured him to admit it, no matter how desperately he wanted – needed – to believe that Padmé Naberrie had stopped hating him…

She had not.

And so her next words came to him like a laser through his heart:

"I have decided to accept your offer."

''

No Sith Emperor had ever taken an Empress before. No Sith Emperor had ever wanted to. The power that made a Force adept attuned to the Force was not an ability that was passed along the bloodline: it manifested completely at random – or so it seemed. It was whispered amongst the Emperor's own that once upon a time, the old adepts had a better understanding of the pattern that the Force used in selecting its children. It was whispered that perhaps this knowledge still remained with the Jedi.

(That the knowledge _certainly_ remained with the Jedi Keepers.)

However, no Sith had ever possessed this knowledge – or was even convinced of its existence. The futility of starting a dynasty that could not be sustained and the complete lack of interest that the Sith had in affection or families made it a non-issue.

Until now.

''

"Pregnant?"

He didn't know what to say – what to feel. He had never met a pregnant woman before, at least not knowingly. He had no concept of babies or children or family.

But when he looked at Padmé's swollen form and realized that that was the cause of the strange doubling of her aura – that life was growing inside her – life that _he_ had put in there

(no matter how that had come about)

he had felt his heart clench with _something_. It was almost like what he had felt when he looked at Padmé's image all those years ago. Longing, almost a kind of hunger. A desperation to have something that he didn't understand – that he didn't understand wanting to have – a desperation that he didn't even know could be satisfied.

But Padmé let him put his shaking hands on her belly, let him feel the life there moving, kicking, _alive, his…_

And he realized that yes, he could have this.

(It had to be a dream.)

''

A New Order was at hand.

In every world, the populace turned out in droves to celebrate the wedding of the young Emperor to the mysterious and beautiful woman and if there was a forced gaiety in the young women's giggles; or if an old man punctuated a bawdy joke by a swift glance at the night sky (was that a moon in the horizon? Or… something else?), it mattered not.

At first, the Hands did not know where the Empress fit in the Imperial chain of command – but they learnt it very quickly. The old ways were no more, as Vader had wasted no time in letting them know when – after they had quietly and effectively murdered Darra Thel-Tanis – he had publicly and brutally decimated half of their ranks.

The Hands would never convene again.

That was just the beginning.

''

The Jedi were 'pardoned'. Officially, the Emperor extended amnesty to all who claimed to be or swore allegiance to the Jedi and provided them with peaceful exile on the planet of Endor. A lot more than he would have liked – and that the Empress had hoped for – took the pax. With no Grandmaster and their Guardian apparently in alignment with their enemy, they were nerf without a nerfherder. Those lived out their lives in relative peace on that planet. Some clung to their blood-deep allegiance to the Guardian and pledged allegiance to the Empress. The Emperor found a use for them. Some refused to surrender. Of these, those that remained on Yavin were destroyed along with the moon. Those that scattered across the Empire, seeking shelter, made excellent game for the Emperor's and his children's hunting sprees.

''

The Empress gave birth to two children – male and female. Whatever hopes were entertained against the start of a dynasty were dashed within hours of their birth. With a midi-chlorian count even higher than their father's, the Vader twins were the Emperor's blood heirs in every sense of the word.

The New Order had come to stay.

''

"Which will you choose?"

Few things could take the Emperor's attention away from his children. The Empress was one of them. She walked up to where he stood at the balcony, watching the twins spar below and he thought how perverse it was that after all these years, the sight of her still made his heart tighten with longing and resentment.

"Of the two," she said, when he did not answer. "Which will you choose?" She asked the question with every appearance of the indifference she always displayed in matters concerning her children but he could see the light of curiosity in her eyes.

"Neither," he retorted, looking from her to the twins. His daughter had scaled up the ramp and was using her vertical advantage to rain down blows on her brother. He took advantage of a break in her focus and with a pull on the Force that broke goosebumps on Vader's neck, sent his sister crashing down to the floor.

"You will not hand over the Empire to the twins?" The Empress's voice was incredulous.

"I will hand it over to both of them."

She laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. He thought, sadly, resignedly, that he had never heard her laugh pleasantly. "You still hold on to that impossible ideal."

"The Sith Order was founded by twins," he said softly with feigned patience. And then – because he could not resist – "Didn't the Jedi tell you that?"

As always, the mention of her former allies made her flinch and when she spoke, her voice was harsh. "Those twins lived for hundreds of years. Do you plan on giving your children immortality?"

"So you know the old stories," he murmured, taking perverse delight in the anger he provoked. "I wonder that the Jedi were not ashamed to hold onto them."

The twins had exchanged weapons now. His son had taken his daughter's light-saber while the sister wielded the vibro-whip the brother favored. One expert flip of the whip and the boy's blade went scattering across the floor and out. Another flip of the whip and his legs went down from under him.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Nor have you mine." And in truth, he wanted to annoy her almost as much as he wanted to know this. "What stories did the Jedi tell you about the battle between Darth Bane and the Jedi Grandmaster? About the twins and the founding of the Sith Empire?"

She didn't answer.

"So they did tell you." He realized this with some surprise.

A Force choke had undermined the girl and her brother quickly recovered the fallen weapon. She had traded the whip for a vibro-axe and the two of them were going at it with a shard of sparks so fierce that he could barely make them out.

It was a wonder that they didn't kill themselves with these 'friendly' spars.

"You know what they told me?" The Empress declared suddenly and there was something in her voice that made Vader turn full and look at her.

In many ways, she had not changed a bit from the woman whom the bounty hunter had given to the Sith Apprentice almost ten years ago on that landing platform. Her skin was still flawless, those old tattoos long faded and gone, her hair darkened into its glossy shade. In many ways, she was far more beautiful. She was the Empress and on her husband's insistence, no expense had been spared in maintaining the health and beauty of his wife, of the mother of his children. Dressed in clothes that old Padmé Naberrie would not have dreamed of pulling off, plied with beauty regimens and treatments that could almost stop a human from aging, she gave credence to the claim that was made of her as the most beautiful woman in the world.

But in other ways, in ways that Vader refused to dwell on, in ways that he was (Sith Lord or not) _afraid_ to dwell on, she was nothing at all like the woman he met all those years ago. There was a lack of mercy in her eyes, a brutality in her smile, and a ruthlessness in some decisions she made in the spheres of influence allocated to her

(that he put there)

that had not been there that day that he had looked behind him and seen her awake and unafraid in his home.

The way she looked at him now reminded him of that. That the Empress who stood before him was, in many ways, not the woman whose picture

(he had fallen more than in love with)

had made him want to possess her.

"What?" Vader asked roughly when she didn't continue, just smirked up at him in a way that told him she was picking her words with the utmost care in order to inflict them were they would do the maximum damage.

Absent mindedly, he sensed the twins had lost their weapons and each was holding the other in a Force choke-hold.

"The founding twins – Yoda and Yaddle? They _loved _each other. In their own perverted Sith-accursed way, they cared for each other. Maybe because they weren't always Sith. Who knows? But your children, Lord Emperor? They hate each other. They have from the moment they were born. Do you know why you can never give your Empire to both of them? Because it's only a matter of time before one of them kills the other. And by the looks of things," her eyes cut to the fight below. Until then, he hadn't even realized that she was paying the children any attention, "you should count yourself lucky if they don't kill each other first."

She didn't wait for an answer. She didn't have to.

After the twins were born, Vader had had many foolish, sentimental thoughts and in the throes of one, he had asked the Empress if she would ever forgive him.

The memory of her laughter remained with him to this very day.

Even then he had not wanted to admit to himself that the only reason she returned to him was because she had found a way to use his children to punish him.

He would separate the twins later. For now, the Emperor of the known world bowed his head in his arms and wept in his heart.

''

"_I cannot live without her. Don't make me." _

"_Me? Who am I? You are the avatar of the Force. The choice has always been up to you." _

"_Then if this is it. If this all I can get, then I'll take it. I choose this." _

_The gray eyes shimmered with the sadness that Vader refused to let himself succumb to. _

''

_(Dreams were supposed to pass in time.)_

''

**_TBC_**

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Squee! I bet a lot of you thought that this story was abandoned, didn't you? Well, to be honest, so did I. But I decided to screw everything and finish what I started. I love this story, this 'verse, and I have a definite ending in mind. So it will get done. And as a prize to faithful readers, I__ have a special PM-only (or email only) cookie that will go up to the first twelve people that post a review. The only 'rules' are that you write a proper review: more than six words; more than 'good job' but actually comment on the story **and **that you remember to leave your email address if you are posting without a account. Thanks for reading!_


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